MAXIM  GORKY 


•FOMA  GORDYEEFF 


BY 

MAXIM   GORK'^ 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN   BY 

ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


J   'j  )    '  > 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1906 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW  omecToirr 

ramTIHQ  AND  SOOKBINOINa  COMPANY 
NIW  rONK 


^Author's  AiUhorization} 


tMo^tf^ 


fUlA^^ 


CH    AiyOUj      UJtAAt      ittlTj     iOJ^   » 


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PREFACE 

Ettssia,  like  the  United  States,  is  a  land  of  vast  social  con- 
trasts, and  of  equally  vast  democratic  equality,  which  is  con- 
stantly being  illustrated  with  striking  examples  of  the  adage 
that  "  extremes  meet/'  Not  to  revert  at  too  great  length 
or  remoteness  to  the  past,  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century 
offers  us  the  spectacle  of  the  son  of  a  poor,  unlettered  peasant, 
himself  unfavored  with  education  or  prospects  in  early  youth, 
becoming  the  Patriarch  of  Eussia,  through  his  learning, 
virtues  and  strength  of  character;  and  coming  to  wield  such 
great  influence  over  the  public  mind  as  fairly  to  overshadow 
that  of  the  autocratic  Tzar,  Alexei  Mikhailovitch.  So  in- 
fluential was  this  great  Patriarch  Mkon,  so  powerful  had  he 
rendered  his  office,  that  Alexei  Mikhailovitch's  son,  Peter 
the  Great,  abolished  the  Patriarchate  in  order  to  obviate  a 
recurrence  of  the  conflicts  of  authority  which  his  father's 
reign  had  witnessed.  Yet  the  great  Emperor  Peter  himself 
chose  as  his  assistants  in  moulding  the  Eussian  empire  the 
capable  men,  wherever  he  found  them,  which  was  frequently 
among  the  humblest  members  of  the  population;  witness 
the  pancake  pedlar  afterwards  Prince  Menshikoff,  the  states- 
man whose  power  extended  through  several  reigns. 

More  to  our  present  purpose,  however,  is  the  case  of 
Lomonosoff,  in  the  eighteenth  century.  Like  the  Patriarch 
Nikon,  an  untutored  lad,  the  son  of  an  Archangel  fisherman, 
he  became,  through  sheer  ability,  the  "Father  of  Eussian 
Literature,"  the  first  moulder  of  the  modern  Eussian  Ian- 


Preface 

guage,  the  chief  scientific  man  in  those  days  of  universal 
geniuses,  and  the  founder  of  divers  industries  and  learned 
institutions  for  which  Russia  is  famous  at  the  present  day. 

In  the  purely  literary  world,  we  are  now  offered  a  similar 
phenomenon.  The  best  native  judges  have,  for  the  last  three 
years,  been  proclaiming  Maxim  Gork^  as  the  most  promis- 
ing young  writer  in  Russia — in  which  opinion  foreigners  are 
now  concurring:  while  "young  Russia"  has  made  him  its 
idol,  and  hails  in  him  the  successor  to  Count  Lyeff  Nikolae- 
vitch  Tolstoy.  Lyeff  Nikolaevitch's  grand  career  is,  proba- 
bly, closed:  age  and  increasing  infirmities  will  militate 
against  his  adding  to  his  present  record  anything  which  will 
materially  alter  or  augment  the  world's  verdict  as  to  his  im- 
mense genius. 

GOrk;^'s  career  is  beginning  with  a  power  which  makes 
the  reader  feel  that,  if  his  genius  is  assiduously  developed 
in  his  own  way,  he  may  accomplish  results  in  the  field  of 
realism  combined  with  lofty  idealism  and  poetrv  which  will 
be  tremendous  additions  to  the  literature  of  the  world,  but 
which  cannot  be  predicted  with  accuracy  because  we  have 
no  standard  of  comparison  for  such  an  evenly-balanced, 
powerful  writer  in  whom  these  great  elements  have  been  so 
wonderfully  united. 

No  greater  contrast  could  be  imagined  than  exists  be- 
tween the  grand  veteran  who  now  leads  the  army  of  Russian 
writers,  and  this  new  recruit  to  the  world's  literary  host. — 
Count  Tolstoy,  a  man  of  high  birth,  position,  wealth,  who 
has  enjoyed  the  best  educational  and  social  opportunities; 
Maxim  Gorkf ,  a  homeless  member  of  the  "  Barefoot  Bri- 
gade," which  he  has  chronicled  in  his  short  stories  with  power 
unsurpflfi^qeH^  fllTyinst  hrnffll^  »  pnpjry  and  idealisTn  as  ^sfoTiish. 
ing  for  its  loftiness  as  are  his  feehng  for  Nature  and  his 
gift  for  depicting  itr  which  no  Russian  writer — not  even 

▼i 


Preface 

Turg^neff,  the  most  remarkable  of  all  in  this  direction- 
has  ever  excelled. 

Turgeneff  dealt  with  the  gentry,  the  students,  the  rep- 
resentatives of  the  "young  Russia''  of  his  day,  and  with 
the  peasants  in  their  normal  life  in  the  country;  Tolstoy 
has  dealt  with  the  aristocracy  and  the  peasants  under  the 
same  conditions  as  those  depicted  by  Turgeneff.  Gork^ 
deals,  in  his  short  stories,  with  the  peasants  who  have  become 
toilers  in  the  towns,  and  members  of  the  great  proletariat; 
and  in  this,  his  first  long  novel,  with  the  rich  merchant  class 
of  the  present  day. 

Ostrovsky  handled  the  wealthy,  old-fashioned,  conserva- 
tive merchant-class  of  his  time  in  such  caustic  and  ludicrous 
fashion,  that  the  ire  of  the  class  portrayed  was  aroused — 
Gorlrf  makes  one  of  his  merchants  in  the  present  volume 
allude  to  Ostr6vsky's  famous  comedies — and  the  delighted 
applause  of  the  Eussian  public.  Yet  these  plays  are,  in  a 
way,  too  strictly  national  to  appeal  to  foreign  nations. 
Gorky,  with  no  less  fidelity  and  biting  wit,  in  a  more  satis- 
factory form,  sketches  the  same  class  in  their  modified,  yet 
conservative,  aspect,  today;  but  his  keen  arraignment  of 
methods  and  morals  has  the  broad  touch  which  makes  it 
apply  to  all  lands  and  times.  In  Foma,  he  shows  the  gilded 
youth  of  all  climes.  With  profound  psychological  insight 
he  shows  Foma  as  actually  ruining  his  life  because  of  his 
best,  not  his  worst  instincts,  by  truth  and  innate  nobility, 
not  by  vices  and  falsehood  deliberately  cultivated.  Eebellion 
against  the  established  order  of  social  and  commercial  morals 
is,  of  course,  the  sonorous  undertone; — and  this  is  not  sur- 
prising; the  author  has  seen  more  of  the  seamy  side  of  life 
than  most  men. 

Maxim  Gorky^s  real  name  is:  Alex^i  Maximovitch  Pyesh- 
koff.    He  was  born  in  Nizhni  Novgorod  on  March  14,  1868 

▼ii 


Preface 

or  1869  (he  says),  in  the  family  of  his  grandfather,  the 
painter  Vasily  Vasilievitch  Kashirin.  His  father,  Maxim 
Savatievitch  Pyeshkoff,  was  an  upholsterer  from  Perm,  and 
died  when  Alexei  Maximovitch  (Gorky)  was  five  years  of 
age.  After  the  death  of  his  mother,  a  few  years  later,  the 
orphan  boy  was  hired  out  to  a  shoemaker.  With  the  aid  of 
a  prayer-book,  his  grandfather  had  taught  him  to  read.  The 
boy  ran  away  from  the  shoemaker,  became  the  apprentice  of 
a  draughtsman;  again  ran  away,  and  entered  the  workshop 
of  a  manufacturer  of  ikoni,  or  holy  pictures.  Afterward, 
he  worked  on  a  Volga  steamer  as  cook's  boy,  then  became 
assistant  to  a  gardener.  In  these  occupations  he  spent  his 
time  until  his  fifteenth  year.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  a 
diligent  reader  of  "the  classical  productions  of  unknown 
writers  "  —  '*  Gruak  ;  or.  The  Invincible  Faithfulness," 
'^  Andrei  the  Dauntless,''  *'Japancha,"  "Yashka  Smer- 
tensky,"  and  the  like. 

Gorky  himself  thus  describes  his  adventures: — "While  I 
was  on  board  the  steamer  as  cook's  boy/'  he  says,  "  the  cook, 
Smury,  exercised  a  lasting  influence  over  my  education. 
Under  his  guidance  I  read  ^  The  Lives  of  the  Saints,' 
'  Eckartshausen,'  the  works  of  Gogol,  Uspensky,  Dumas 
Senior,  and  numerous  little  books  of  the  freemasons.  Pre- 
vious to  my  acquaintance  with  the  cook,  I  had  a  profound 
antipathy  toward  any  sort  of  printed  paper,  the  '  Passport ' 
not  excepted!  After  my  fifteenth  year,  I  was  seized  by  a 
wild  desire  for  knowledge,  and  therefore  went  to  Kazan, 
supposing  that  knowledge  is  distributed  gratis  to  those  who 
thirst  for  it.  However,  this  proved  to  be  not  customary, 
and  therefore  I  went  as  a  common  laborer  into  a  bakery, 
on  a  salary  of  three  rubles  (approximately,  $1.50)  a 
month.  Of  all  the  work  I  ever  attempted,  this  was  the 
hardest/' 

viii 


Preface 

In  Kazan  Gorky  peddled  apples,  worked  on  the  docks, 
sawed  wood  and  carried  heavy  burdens.  How  difficult  it  was 
for  him  to  make  a  bare  living  we  may  judge  from  the  fact 
that  he  attempted  to  commit  suicide. 

From  Kazan  Gorky  went  to  Tzaritzyn,  where  he  obtained 
a  position  as  watchman  on  a  railway.  Soon  after,  in  answer 
to  the  summons  to  military  service,  he  returned  to  Nizhni 
Novgorod,  but  never  became  a  soldier,  as  such  "  tramps  " 
are  not  accepted.  So  he  started  a  business  in  Bavarian  kvas 
— a  sort  of  white  beer;  and,  at  length,  the  much-tried  mem- 
ber of  the  Painters^  Guild  became  the  assistant  secretary  to 
the  well-known  Counsellor  at  Law,  A.  J.  Lanin.  Lanin 
took  a  hvely  interest  in  him,  but  Gorky's  vagabond  ad- 
ventures did  not  end  here.  His  tramping  brought  him  to 
Tiflis,  where  he  was  employed  in  the  workshop  of  a  railway; 
and  in  Tiflis  he  published  his  first  story  in  the  news- 
paper "Kavkaz."  Soon  after,  he  returned  to  his  native 
shores  of  the  Volga,  and  began  to  publish  his  sketches  in 
the  local  papers.  In  Nizhni  Novgorod  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  well-known  writer,  Vladimir  Korolenko,  who  ex- 
ercised a  lasting  influence  over  his  career  as  a  writer.  Within 
a  year  after  he  began  to  publish,  he  won  recognition  from 
the  best  Eussian  critics  as  the  leading  writer  of  fiction. 

Thus  Gorky  continues  the  time-honored  Russian  tradi- 
tion: the  poor,  struggling  member  of  the  "  Barefoot  Bri- 
gade ''  writes  because  his  genius,  his  passionate  poetry  and 
deep  feelings  compel  him,  and  he  appears  to  be  destined  to 
take  his  place  in  the  temple  of  Fame  beside  Patriarch  Nikon, 
Lomonosoff  and  many  other  gifted  peasants — and  as  the 
successor  of  the  aristocratic  Count  Tolstoy! 

And,  although  he  has  now  settled  down  in  Nizhni  Nov- 
gorod, his  experiences  are  not  ended.  He  has  been  in  prison 
seven  or  eight  times — on  the  last  occasion  in  connection  with 

ix 


Preface 

the  troubles  in  the  early  spring  of  the  present  year.  In 
prison  he  received  the  letter  of  the  Messrs.  Scribner  propos- 
ing terms  for  the  authorized  publication  of  this  volume; 
from  prison  he  despatched  the  cablegram  of  acceptance, — an 
incident  which  is  worth  mentioning  for  the  suggestion  as 
to  methods  of  the  Russian  Government  toward  prisoners, 
which  differ  from  the  popularly-received  notions  in  that 
regard. 

Isabel  F.  Hapgood. 

August  3, 1901. 


FOMA    GORDYEEFF 


Sixty  years  ago,  when  fortunes  reaching  into  the 
millions  were  being  made  with  fabulous  rapidity  on  the 
Volga, — Ignat  Gordyeeff,  then  a  young  lad,  worked  as  water- 
pumper  on  one  of  the  barges  belonging  to  the  wealthy 
merchant  Zaeff. 

Physically  built  after  the  pattern  of  the  gigantic  heroes 
of  ancient  legends,  handsome  and  far  from  stupid,  he  was 
one  of  the  men  who  are  always  and  in  everything  successful 
— not  because  they  are  talented  and  industrious,  but  rather . 
because  being  possessed  of  a  vast  amount  of  energy,  they 
cannot  understand,  cannot  even  pause  to  consider,  the  choice 
of  means  towards  the  attainment  of  their  ends,  and  know 
no^  law  except  their  own  will. ,  At  times  they  speak  with 
terror  of  their  consciences,  at  times  they  undergo  genuine 
torture  in  their  struggle  with  it, — but  conscience  is  an  un- 
conquerable power  only  for  the  weak-spirited;  the  strong 
of  spirit  speedily  overcome  it  and  make  it  the  slave  of  their 
will,  for  they  unconsciously  feel  that  if  they  give  it  full 
scope  and  liberty  it  will  wreck  their  life.  They  offer  it  as  a 
sacrifice  to  their  day;  but  if  it  happens  that  it  conquers 
their  souls,  though  subjugated  by  it,  they  never  are  broken, 
and  live  on  as  healthily  and  powerfully  under  its  rule  as 
they  lived  without  it. 

At  forty  years  of  age,  Ignat  Gordyeeff  himself  was  the 

1 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

owner  of  three  steamers  and  ten  barges.  He  was  respected 
on  the  Volga  as  a  rich  and  clever  man,  but  the  nickname 
of  "  the  Crazy  Man/'  was  conferred  upon  him  because  his 
life  did  not  flow  on  in  an  even  current,  along  a  straight  bed, 
as  with  other  men  like  himself,  but  rebelliously  foaming  up, 
every  little  while,  escaped  from  its  bounds,  in  a  direction 
away  from  gain  which  was  the  chief  object  of  this  man's 
existence.  There  existed,  as  it  were,  three  Gordyeeffs  or 
there  were,  so  to  speak,  three  souls  in  Ignat's  body.  One 
of  them,  the  most  powerful,  was  merely  greedy,  and  when 
Ignat  lived  subject  to  its  influence, — he  was  simply  a  man 
possessed  with  an  indomitable  passion  for  work.  This 
passion  burned  within  him  day  and  night,  he  was  entirely 
devoured  by  it,  and  as  he  seized  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  rubles  in  all  directions,  it  seemed  as  though  he  could 
never  slake  his  thirst  for  the  rustle  and  chink  of  money.  He 
flew  about,  up  the  Volga  and  down  the  Volga,  strengthen- 
ing his  nets  and  setting  new  ones  to  catch  gold;  he  bought 
grain  in  the  villages,  carried  it  to  Eybinsk  on  his  barges; 
he  robbed  and  cheated,  sometimes  without  even  noticing  it, 
though  again  at  times  he  did  recognize  the  fact,  and  openly 
and  triumphantly  sneered  at  the  men  he  had  cheated,  and  in 
the  madness  of  his  greed  for  money  he  rose  to  poetry.  But 
while  he  devoted  so  much  strength  to  his  pursuit  of  the 
ruble,  he  was  not  greedy  in  the  narrow  sense  of  that  word, 
and  occasionally  even  displayed  an  incomprehensible  but 
sincere  indiflerence  towards  his  property.  Once,  while  the 
ice  was  breaking  up  in  the  Volga,  he  stood  on  the  shore 
and  perceiving  that  the  ice  was  crushing  his  new  barge, 
forty-five  fathoms  long,  pressing  it  against  the  ragged  bank, 
he  screamed  through  his  tightly  closed  lips: 

"  Give  it  to  her    .    .    .    now  again    .    .    .    squeeze — 
crush!    Come,  once  more  now — rruif 

2 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

*^  Why,  Ignat," — asked  his  friend  Mayakin,  approaching 
him,  "  isn^t  the  ice  squeezing  ten  thousand  rubles  out  of 
your  purse?  " 

"  Never  mind.  1^11  win  a  hundred  thousand  in  place  of 
it.  But  just  see  how  the  Volga  is  working!  It's  robust? 
Hey?  Mother  Volga  can  rend  the  whole  earth  apart,  as 
one  cuts  curds  with  a  knife  .  .  .  look,  look!  There 
goes  my  ^  Boyarinya! '  She  only  sailed  one  season.  Well, 
shall  we  commemorate  her  death?  " 

The  barge  was  crushed  to  kindling-wood.  Ignat  and  his 
crony,  as  they  sat  in  an  eating-house  on  the  bank,  drank 
vodka  and  through  the  window  watched  the  fragments  of 
the  "  Boyarinya  "  floating  down  stream  with  the  ice. 

"Are  you  sorry  for  your  vessel,  Ignat?  "  asked  Mayakin. 

"Well,  what's  the  use  of  being  sorry?  The  Volga  gave 
and  the  Volga  has  taken  away.    It  hasn't  torn  off  my  hand." 

"  Nevertheless    .    .    ." 

"What's  that?  It's  a  good  thing  that  I  saw  it  myself 
how  it  all  happened  .  .  'tis  a  lesson  for  the  future.  But 
when  my  ^  Volgar '  was  burned  I  was  sorry — I  didn't  see 
it.  What  a  fine  sight  it  must  have  been — such  a  huge  bon- 
fire blazing  on  the  water  of  a  dark  night,  don't  you  think 
so  ?    It  was  a  huge  steamer    .    ." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  didn't^regret  that  either?  " 

"  The  steamer?  I  did  regret  the  steamer,  certainly  .  .  . 
Well,  regret  is  nothing  but  silliness.  What's  the  use?  Cry, 
if  you  like,  but  tears  quench  no  fires.  Let  the  steamers 
burn — and  if  everything  burns,  I  don't  care  a  straw!  My 
spirit  would  blaze  up  to  work — and  I'd  replace  it  all — isn't 
that  the  idea?  "  . 

"  Ye — es — "  said  Mayakin  laughing.  "  You  utter  stout 
words.  And  anyone  who  talks  like  that  will  always  be  a 
rich  man,  even  if  you  strip  him  to  the  skin." 

3 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

While  bearing  himself  thus  philosophically  towards  the 
loss  of  thousands,  Ignat  knew  the  value  of  every  kopek; 
he  rarely  gave  anything  to  beggars,  even,  and  only  to  those 
who  were  entirely  incapacitated  for  work.  But  if  a  man 
who  had  the  least  power  of  work  in  him  asked  alms,  Ignat 
said  severely: 

"  Begone!  You  can  work  still, — go  help  my  yard-porter 
to  clean  up  the  manure,  and  I'll  give  you  two  kopeks  in 
silver/' 

During  the  periods  when  he  was  carried  away  with  ardor 
for  work,  he  treated  people  harshly  and  pitilessly,  neither 
did  he  give  himself  any  rest  in  his  pursuit  of  the  ruble. 
Then,  all  of  a  sudden — and  this  generally  happened  in  the 
spring,  when  everything  on  earth  becomes  so  enchantingly 
beautiful,  and  from  the  clear  sky  there  descends  upon  the 
soul  a  certain  reproachful  and  withal  gracious  influence — 
Ignat  Gordyeeff  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  not  the  master 
of  his  business  but  its  abject  slave.  He  became  thoughtful, 
and  gazing  curiously  about  him  from  beneath  his  thick, 
frowning  eyebrows,  he  went  about  for  whole  days  at  a 
time  surly  and  malicious,  as  though  silently  in  search  of 
an  answer  to  some  query,  yet  afraid  to  put  the  question 
aloud.  Then  there  awoke  in  him  another  spirit — the 
stormy,  sensuaLs^ijit  of  a  wild  beast  enraged  by  hunger. 
Insolent  and  cynical  with  everyone  he  took  to  drink,  de- 
praved and  intoxicated  others,  fell  into  delirium  and  in 
that  delirium  gave  vent  to  an  eruption  like  a  volcano  of 
mud.  It  seemed  as  though  he  were  madly  seeking  to  rend 
the  chains  which  he  had  forged  for  himself  and  wore,  as 
though  he  tore  at  them  and  was  powerless  to  break  them. 
Dishevelled,  dirty,  his  face  swollen  with  intoxication  and 
sleepless  nights,  his  eyes  dull,  he  roved  about  the  town 
from  one  dive  to  another,  huge,  roaring  with  his  hoarse  voice, 

4 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

flung  his  money  about  without  counting  it,  shed  tears 
under  the  influence  of  the  national  peasant  songs,  and 
danced  and  thrashed  some  one,  no  matter  whom,  but  never 
found  relief  anywhere  or  in  anything. 

Once  upon  a  time  it  happened,  that  the  company  with 
whom  Ignat  was  carousing  was  joined — as  a  clod  of  mud 
sticks  to  the  boot — by  a  disfrocked  deacon,  a  short,  squat 
man,  in  a  ragged  cassock,  and  with  a  bald  head.  This  char- 
acterless, disgusting  and  monstrous  individual  played  the 
part  of  a  jester.  They  smeared  his  bald  spot  with  mustard, 
made  him  go  on  all  fours,  drink  a  mixture  of  brandies, 
dance  indecent  dances;  all  this  he  did  in  silence,  with  an 
idiotic  smile  on  his  wrinkled  face,  and  when  he  had  done 
what  he  had  been  ordered  to  do,  he  invariably  said,  extend- 
ing his  hand,  palm  upwards: 

"  Please  give  me  a  ruble.'' 

They  laughed  at  him  and  sometimes  gave  him  a  twenty- 
kopek  piece,  and  sometimes  nothing  at  all;  but  then  again, 
they  sometimes  flung  ten  rubles  or  more  at  him. 

"  You're  an  abomination! "  shouted  Ignat  at  him  one 
day, "  Tell  us  who  you  are  ?  " 

The  deacon  was  frightened  by  the  shout,  and  making  a 
low  bow  to  Ignat,  held  his  peace. 

"Who?    Speak  up!  "  roared  Ignat. 

"  I  ^  am  a  man — for  insult,"  replied  the  deacon,  and  the 
company  roared  with  laughter  at  his  words. 

"  Are  you  a  worthless  scamp?  "  asked  Ignat  menacingly. 

"  I  am  a  worthless  scamp — through  want  and  the  weak- 
ness of  my  soul." 

"  Come  hither!  "  Ignat  summoned  him.  "  Come  and  sit 
here  beside  me." 

*  The    deacon's    language    is    strongly   tinged    with    ecclesiastical 
Slavonic:  e.g.  az,  instead  of  ya. — Translator. 

5 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

With  timid  steps,  quivering  with  terror,  the  deacon  drew 
near  to  the  drunken  merchant,  and  stood  facing  him. 

"  Sit  down  here  heside  me! ''  said  Ignat,  seizing  his  hand 
and  forcing  the  frightened  man  to  seat  himself  by  his  side. 

"  You  come  near  to  my  heart. — I  also — am  a  worthless 
scamp!  You — through  want,  I — through  pure  cussedness! 
— I  am  a  worthless  scamp  because  I  am  bored  with  melan- 
choly!   Do  you  understand?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  deacon  softly. 

But  the  party  laughed  loudly. 

"  Do  you  know  now  who  I  am?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well  then,  say:    *  You  are  a  worthless  scamp,  Ignat! ' '' 

This  the  deacon  could  not  do.  He  stared  in  alarm  at 
the  huge  form  of  Ignat,  and  shook  his  head  in  refusal.  And 
the  company  laughed  so  uproariously  that  it  was  like  the 
rumbling  of  thunder.  Ignat  could  not  order  the  deacon  to 
abuse  him.  Then  he  asked  him:  "  Shall  I  give  you 
money?  " 

"  Yes!  "  replied  the  deacon  with  a  start. 

"  What  do  you  want  it  for?  " 

The  deacon  would  not  answer.  Then  Ignat  grasped  him 
by  the  collar,  and  shook  out  of  his  foul  mouth  this  speech, 
uttered  with  terror,  and  softly,  almost  in  a  whisper: 

"  I  have  a  daughter — a  little  girl — of  sixteen,  in  'the 
school  for  daughters  of  the  clergy.  I'm  saving  up  for  her 
— for  when  she  finishes  school — ^there  will  be  nothing  where- 
with even  to  cover  her  nakedness." 

"  Oh,"  said  Ignat,  and  released  his  grasp  on  the  deacon's 
collar.  Then  he  sat  for  a  long  time  absorbed  in  gloomy 
meditation,  all  the  while  casting  glances  at  the  deacan. 
Then  his  eyes  lighted  up  with  a  smile  and  he  said: 

"  Of  course  you're  lying,  you  drunkard?  " 

6 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  deacon  silently  crossed  himself  and  his  head  sank 
upon  his  breast. 

"It  is  true!"  said  one  of  the  company,  confirming  the 
deacon's  statement. 

"Is  it?  All  right!"  shouted  Ignat,  and  banging  the 
table  with  his  fist,  he  turned  to  the  deacon: 

"  Hey  there,  you!  Sell  your  daughter!  How  much  will 
you  take  ?  " 

The  deacon  shook  his  head,  and  shrank  together. 

"A  thousand!" 

The  company  howled  with  laughter  at  the  sight  of  the 
deacon  shrinking  as  if  he  had  received  a  douche  of  cold 
water. 

"  Two!  "  shouted  Ignat,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean?  How  is  it?"  stammered  the 
deacon,  stretching  out  both  hands  to  Ignat. 

"Three!" 

"  Ignat  Matvyeevitch!  "  cried  the  deacon  in  a  thin,  pierc- 
ing voice.  "For  the  sake  of  the  Lord  God — for  Christ's 
sake!  Enough  of  this — I  will  sell,  certainly.  For  her  sake 
—I  will  sell  her!  " 

In  his  painfully  sharp  cries  resounded  a  threat  towards 
some  one,  and  his  eyes,  which  no  one  had  previously  no- 
ticed, flamed  like  live  coals.  But  the  party  of  drunken 
men  laughed  madly  at  him. 

"  Shut  up !  "  shouted  Ignat  menacingly,  drawing  himself 
up  to  his  full  height,  and  knitting  his  brows. — "  Don't  you 
understand  the  point,  you  devils?    This  is  enough  to  make 

one  weep — and  you  yell  with  laughter "     He  stepped 

up  to  the  deacon,  knelt  down  before  him,  and  said  in  a 
firm  tone: 

"  Deacon!  ISTow  you  have  seen  what  a  worthless  scamp 
I  am.    Now,  spit  in  my  face!  " 

7 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

What  happened  next  was  hoth  repulsive  and  ridiculous. 
The  deacon  flung  himself  at  Ignat's  feet,  crawled  around 
them  like  a  huge  tortoise,  kissed  the  knees,  and  muttered 
something  between  his  sobs.  And  Ignat,  bending  over  him, 
raised  him  from  the  floor  and  cried  to  him  in  a  voice  wherein 
command  and  entreaty  were  mingled. 

"  Spit!    Aim  straight  in  my  shameless  eyes!  " 

Stunned  for  a  moment  by  Ignat's  threatening  cry,  the 
company  again  burst  out  laughing  so  violently  that  the 
panes  shook  in  the  windows  of  the  eating-house. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  rubles  if  you  will  spit." 

But  the  deacon  crawled  along  the  floor,  and  sobbed  either 
with  terror  or  with  happiness  at  hearing  this  man  entreat 
him  to  insult  him. 

At  last  Ignat  rose  from  the  floor,  pushed  the  deacon 
aside  with  his  foot,  and  flinging  a  roll  of  bankbills  at  him 
said  with  a  surly  laugh: 

"  Eascal — Can  a  man  make  confession  to  such?  Some 
fear  to  receive  confessions,  others  laugh  at  the  sinner.  I 
came  near  going  to  pieces  completely — my  heart  was  all 
in  a  quiver — I  thought  I  would  give — I  thought  nothing — 
that's  the  fact!  Get  out  with  you!  And  don't  let  me  ever 
lay  eyes  on  you  again — do  you  hear?  " 

"  Ah,  what  an  eccentric  fellow!  "  said  the  company  much 
touched.  Legends  were  invented  in  the  town  about  his 
debauches,  and  everyone  had  condemned  him  severely,  but 
no  one  ever  refused  an  invitation  to  his  orgies.  Thus 
he  lived  for  weeks  together. 

And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  would  present  himself  at 
home,  thoroughly  saturated  still  with  the  odor  of  intoxica- 
tion, but  already  crushed  and  gentle.  With  submissively 
downcast  eyes,  in  which  now  burned  the  flame  of  shame, 
he  listened  in  silence  to  the  reproaches  of  his  wife,  as  peace- 

8 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ably  and  dully  as  a  sheep,  and  went  off  to  his  own  room 
where  he  locked  himself  up.  For  several  hours  at  a  time 
he  linelt  before  the  holy  pictures,  his  head  drooping  on  his 
breast;  his  arms  hung  down  helplessly,  his  back  was  bowed, 
and  he  remained  silent,  not  daring,  as  it  were,  to  pray.  Hia 
wife  stole  to  the  door  on  tiptoe  and  listened.  Heavy  sighs 
resounded  within — the  sighs  of  a  horse  who  is  weary  and  ill. 

"  Oh  Lord!  Thou  seest,^' — whispered  Ignat  dully,  press- 
ing the  palms  of  his  hands  violently  against  his  breast. 

JDuring  his  days  of  penitence  he  drank  nothing  but  water, 
and  ate  only  rye  bread.  In  the  morning  his  wife  placed  at 
the  door  of  his  room  a  large  carafe  of  water,  a  pound  and 
a  half  of  bread  and  some  salt.  He  opened  the  door,  took  in 
this  food,  and  locked  himself  up  again.  He  was  not  dis- 
turbed on  any  account  during  such  periods,  and  they  even 
avoided  crossing  his  path.  After  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  he 
made  his  appearance  again  on  ^Change,  jested,  laughed, 
accepted  contracts  for  supplying  grain,  as  eagle-eyed  as  a 
bird  of  prey,  a  keen  judge  of  everything  connected  with 
business. 

But  in  all  three  phases  of  his  life  Ignat  was  never  free 
from  one  passionate  longing — the  longing  to  have  a  son; 
and  the  older  he  grew,  the  more  intense  did  this  longing 
become.  This  sort  of  conversation  frequently  took  place 
between  him  and  his  wife. — As  they  drank  their  morning 
tea,  or  dined  at  noon,  he — glancing  gloomily  at  his  wife,  a 
fat,  well-fed  woman,  with  a  red  face  and  sleepy  eyes,  would 
ask  her: 

"  Well,  do  you  feel  anything? '' 

She  knew  what  he  meant  by  the  question,  but  invariably 
replied: 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  feel  something?    Your  fists — are  like 

clock-weights. ^^ 

9 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

^^  I  was  speaking  of  your  body,  you  fool." 

"  Haven't  I  borne  you  children?  " 

"  Girls,  forsooth!  " — said  Ignat  reproachfully.  "  I  want 
a  son.  Do  you  understand?  A  son,  an  heir!  To  whom 
shall  I  leave  my  fortune  when  I  die?  Who  will  pray  away 
my  sins?  Must  I  leave  everything  to  a  monastery?  I've 
already  given  money  there — they've  had  enough!  Am  I 
to  leave  my  fortune  to  you?  A  nice  kind  of  person  to  pray, 
you  are — when  you  stand  in  church  all  you  think  of  is  fish- 
pasties.  And  if  I  die — you'll  marry  again — and  then  all 
my  money  will  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  fool  or  other. 
Am  I  working  for  that?    Oh,  you !  " 

And  vicious  sadness  seized  upon  him,  for  he  felt  that  hi$ 
life  was  aimless,  if  he  had  no  son  who  could  continue  it.     \ 

In  the  course  of  nine  years  of  married  life  his  wife  had 
borne  him  four  daughters,  but  all  of  them  had  died. 
Though  he  had  anxiously  anticipated  their  birth,  Ignat  had 
grieved  but  little  over  their  death, — it  did  not  matter,  he 
had  not  wanted  them.  He  began  to  beat  his  wife  in  the 
second  year  of  their  wedlock,  beating  her  at  first  w^hen  he 
was  intoxicated  and  without  ill-will,  and  simply  in  accord- 
ance with  the  popular  saying:  "  Love  your  wife  like  your 
soul,  and  shake  her  like  a  pear-tree! "  ^  But  after  each 
confinement,  his  wrath  against  his  wife  blazed  up,  disap- 
pointed as  he  was  in  his  hopes,  and  he  began  to  take  pleas- 
ure in  beating  her,  by  way  of  revenging  himself  on  her 
for  not  giving  him  a  son. 

One  day,  when  he  was  in  the  Government  of  Samara  on 
business  he  received  from  his  relatives  at  home  a  telegram 
announcing  the  death  of  his  wife.  He  crossed  himself, 
thought  a  while,  and  then  wrote  to  his  crony  Mayakin: 

'  In  Russian  it  rhymes  :  ''  Lubi  zhemi  kak  diishu,  i  tryasi  yeyo  kak 
griishu. " —  Translator. 

10 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

''Bury  her  without  waiting  for  me,  and  look  after  the 
property." 

Then  he  went  to  the  church,  had  a  requiem  service 
chanted  for  her,  and  when  he  had  prayed  for  the  repose 
of  the  soul  of  the  Akulina,  newly  appeared  hefore  God,  he 
began  to  reflect  that  it  behooved  him  to  marry  as  speedily 
as  possible. 

At  that  time  he  was  forty-three  years  of  age;  tall,  broad- 
shouldered;  and  he  spoke  in  a  heavy  bass  voice,  like  a 
proto-deacon;  his  large  eyes  gazed  out  from  beneath  dark 
brows,  with  a  bold,  intelligent  expression;  in  his  sunburnt 
face,  overgrown  with  a  thick  black  beard,  and  in  the  whole 
of  his  powerful  frame  there  was  much  purely  Eussian, 
healthy  and  coarse-grained  beauty;  his  easy  movements  and 
proud,  impatient  gait  breathed  forth  consciousness  of 
strength,  and  firm  belief  in  himself.  Women  liked  him,  and 
he  did  not  avoid  them. 

Six  raonths  had  not  elapsed  from  the  day  of  his  wife's 
death  before  he  proposed  for  the  daughter  of  one  of  his 
business  acquaintances,  a  kazak  of  the  Ural,  of  the  sect  of 
the  Molokani  (milk  drinkers).  The  father  of  the  girl,  al- 
though Ignat  was  known  even  in  the  Urals  as  "  the  crazy 
man,"  gave  him  his  daughter,  and  towards  autumn  Ignat 
Gordyeeff  arrived^at  home  with  his  young  kazak  bride.  Her 
name  was  Natalya.  She  was  tall,  slender,  with  immense 
blue  eyes,  and  long,  dark  auburn  hair,  and  was  a  worthy 
mate  for  the  handsome  Ignat.  He  exulted  and  took  pride 
in  his  young  wife,  and  loved  her  with  the  passionate  love 
of  the  healthy  male;  but  before  long  he  began  to  stare 
keenly  and  thoughtfully  at  her. 

Earely  did  a  smile  appear  on  the  oval,  strictly  regular 
face  of  his  wife — she  seemed  to  always  be  thinking  of  some- 
thing foreign  to  her  life,  and  in  her  ever  coldly-calm  blue 

11 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

eyes  there  was,  at  times,  a  gloomy  and  savage  gleam.  Dur- 
ing the  leisure  which  her  housewifely  cares  allowed  her,  she 
was  wont  to  seat  herself  at  the  window  of  the  largest  room 
in  the  house,  and  there  she  remained,  silent  and  motionless, 
for  two  or  three  hours  at  a  time.  Her  face  was  turned  tow- 
ards the  street;  but  her  eyes  stared  indifferently  at  every- 
thing that  lived  and  moved  there,  beyond  the  window,  and 
at  the  same  time  her  look  was  profoundly  concentrated  as 
if  she  were  gazing  at  her  own  inward  self.  Her  walk  was 
strange,  also:  Natalya  moved  slowly  and  cautiously  about 
the  spacious  rooms  of  her  home,  as  though  some  invisible 
thing  interfered  with  her  freedom  of  action.  The  house 
was  furnished  with  heavy  and  coarsely-ostentatious  luxury, 
everything  in  it  shone  and  cried  aloud  about  the  wealth  of 
the  owner,  but  the  kazak  bride  walked  past  the  costly  fur- 
niture and  the  what-nots  laden  with  silver,  in  a  sort  of  fur- 
tive and  timid  way,  as  if  she  feared  that  all  these  things 
would  seize  upon  her  and  stifle  her.  The  noisy  life  of  the 
big  trading  town  did  not  interest  this  taciturn  woman,  and 
when  she  went  out  to  drive  with  her  husband,  she  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  coachman's  back.  If  her  husband  asked 
her  out  visiting,  she  went,  and  behaved  herself  as  strangely 
as  at  home;  if  guests  came  to  them  she  was  assiduous  in 
entertaining  them  with  food  and  drink,  but  displayed  no 
interest  whatever  in  what  they  said,  and  never  distinguished 
any  one  above  another.  Crony  Mayakin  alone,  a  droll  and 
clever  fellow,  at  times  evoked  upon  her  face  a  smile  as 
uncertain  as  a  shadow.    He  was  accustomed  to  say  of  her: 

"  She's  wood — not  a  woman!  But  life  is  like  an  un- 
quenchable bonfire,  and  we  all  get  kindled  from  it,  and  so 
will  this  milk-drinker  woman — just  wait.  Then  we  shall 
see  what  sort  of  flowers  she  will  put  forth." 

"  Hey,  you  fantastic  dreamer! "   Ignat  said  jestingly  to 

12 


Foma  Gordydeff 

his  wife. — "  What  are  you  thinking  about?    Are  you  pining 
for  your  kazak  village?    You  must  live  more  merrily!  " 

She  looked  calmly  at  him,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  You  go  altogether  too  often  to  the  church  .  .  . 
you'd  better  wait!  You'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  pray  away 
your  sins — commit  them  first.  You  know — if  you  don't 
sin  you  can't  repent,  and  if  you  don't  repent,  you  can't 
save  your  soul.  So  do  your  sins  while  you  are  young.  Shall 
we  go  for  a  drive  ?  " 

*^  I  don't  care  about  it.'^ 

He  seated  himself  beside  her,  embraced  her,  as  she  re- 
ciprocated his  caresses  coldly  and  charily,  and,  gazing  into 
her  eyes,  he  said: 

"Natalya!  Tell  me, — why  are  you  so  far  from  merry? 
Do  you  find  life  with  me  tiresome?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  briefly. 

"Then  what  is  it?  Do  you  wish  to  go  to  your  own 
people  ?  " 

"  Why  no — that  is  to  say    .    .    .'' 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking?  " 

"  I  am  not  thinking." 

"  What  is  the  matter  then?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

One  day  he  extracted  from  her  a  more  extended  answer: 

"In  my  heart — there  is  a  sort  of  uneasiness.  And  in 
my  eyes  .  .  .  And  all  the  while  it  seems  to  me  as 
though  this — were  not  real." 

With  a  sweep  of  her  arm  she  pointed  to  the  walls,  the 
furniture,  everything.  Ignat  did  not  reflect  upon  her 
words,  and  said,  with  a  laugh: 

"  What  nonsense!  Everything  is  as  real  as  possible.  All 
these  things  are  costly  and  substantial.  If  you  don't  like 
them — I'll  burn  the  whole  lot,  I'll  sell  them  or  give  them 
away  and  order  new  ones!    Well,  will  you  have  it  so?  " 

13 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  she  answered  calmly. 

At  last  he  was  struck  with  amazement  that  a  young 
healthy  woman  like  her  should  live  as  though  she  slept, 
that  she  desired  nothing,  never  went  anywhere  except  to 
church,  and  shunned  everybody.    So  he  soothed  her: 

"  Just  wait — you  will  bear  me  a  son,  and  then  life  will 
be  entirely  different  to  you.  You  are  melancholy  now  be- 
cause you  have  very  little  to  do,  but  the  child  will  keep  you 
busy.  You  are  going  to  bear  me  a  son,  of  course,  aren't 
you?" 

"  That  must  be  as  God  wills,"  she  replied,  with  drooping 
head. 

Then  her  attitude  began  to  irritate  him. 

"  Come,  my  milk-drinker,  what  are  you  hanging  your 
head  for?  She  walks  as  though  she  were  treading  on 
glass, — she  looks  as  though  she  had  committed  a  murder! 
Heigho!  You're  a  robust  woman,  and  you  have  no  taste  for 
anything — you  little  fool!  " 

One  day,  when  he  came  home  intoxicated,  he  began  to 
worry  her  with  caresses,  and  she  repulsed  them.  Then  he 
waxed  angry  and  shouted: 

"  Natalya!    Look  out — don't  be  foolish!  " 

She  turned  her  face  to  him  and  calmly  inquired: 

"  What  will  happen  then?  " 

These  words  and  her  fearless  glance  made  Ignat  furious^ 

"  What  ?  "  he  roared,  marching  aggressively  towards  her. 

*^  Do  you  wish  to  beat  me  ?  "  she  asked,  without  stirring 
from  the  spot,  or  moving  an  eyelash. 

Ignat  was  accustomed  to  see  people  tremble  before  his 
wrath,  and  the  sight  of  her  composure  was  strange  and 
offensive  to  him. 

"  Take  that,"  he  shouted,  raising  his  hand.  Without 
haste,  but  in  good  season,  she  stepped  out  of  reach,  then 

14 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

seized  his  hand,  pushed  him  away  from  her,  and  without 
raising  her  voice,  she  said: 

"  If  you  touch  me,  you  shall  never  come  near  me  again! 
I  will  not  permit  you  to  approach  me!  " 

Her  great  eyes  narrowed,  and  their  keen,  piercing  gleam 
brought  Ignat  to  his  senses.  He  comprehended,  from  her 
countenance,  that  she,  also,  was  a  powerful  wild  beast,  and 
if  she  took  it  into  her  head — she  would  have  no  further 
relations  with  him,  even  if  she  were  beaten  to  death. 

"  Oh — you  fantastic  dreamer! "  he  bellowed,  and  took 
himself  off. 

But  although  he  had  given  way  to  her  once,  he  would 
not  have  done  so  a  second  time;  he  could  not  endure  that 
a  woman,  and  that  woman  his  wife,  should  not  bow  down 
before  him:  that  would  have  humiliated  him.  He  would 
have  felt  that  his  wife  would  never,  thenceforth,  yield  to 
him  in  anything,  and  that  between  him  and  her  an  obstinate 
struggle  for  the  preeminence  was  bound  to  arise. 

"All  right!  we'll  see  who  is  who,"  he  said  to  himself  on 
the  following  day,  as  he  watched  his  wife  with  surly  curi- 
osity, and  in  his  soul  was  already  kindled  a  stormy  desire 
to  begin  the  battle,  in  order  that  he  might  the  sooner  enjoy 
the  victory. 

But  four  days  later,  ISTatalya  Fominishna  announced  to 
her  husband  that  she  was  with  child.  Ignat  quivered  with 
joy,  embraced  her  heartily,  and  said  in  a  dull  tone: 

"  That's  my  brave  Natalya!  Xatasha — if  it  is  a  son!  If 
you  bear  me  a  son — I'll  cover  you  with  gold!  What  do  I 
say!  I  tell  you  plainly — I  will  be  your  slave!  I  promise 
it  as  in  the  presence  of  God!  I'll  lie  down  under  your  feet; 
stamp  on  me,  if  you  will!  " 

"  That  will  be  according  to  God's  will,  not  ours,"  she 
replied  softly,  and  clearly. 

15 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Yes — God's!  "  cried  Ignat  bitterly,  and  hung  his  head 
with  sadness.  From  that  moment  forth  he  began  to  watch 
his  wife  as  if  she  were  a  little  child. 

"Why  did  you  sit  down  by  the  window?  Look  out — 
there  is  a  draught  on  your  side,  and  you  will  fall  ill/'  he 
said  to  her  severely  yet  aiiectionately.  "  Why  do  you  run 
up  and  down  stairs?  You  will  shake  yourself  up  to  your 
injury.  And  you  must  eat  more — ^you  must  eat  for  two, 
that  he  may  have  enough." 

But  pregnancy  rendered  Natalya  still  more  concentrated 
and  taciturn,  she  seemed  to  have  withdrawn  still  further 
into  herself,  absorbed  in  the  beating  of  the  new  life  be- 
neath her  heart.  But  the  smile  on  her  lips  grew  clearer, 
and  in  her  eyes  there  flashed  up,  at  times,  something  new, 
weak  and  timid,  like  the  first  flush  of  the  dawn. 

When,  at  last,  the  time  for  her  confinement  arrived— 
it  was  early  of  an  autumn  morning — with  the  first  cry  of 
pain  which  broke  from  his  wife,  Ignat  turned  pale  and 
tried  to  say  something  to  her,  but  ended  by  merely  waving 
his  hand  and  leaving  the  chamber  to  go  down  stairs  to  the 
little  room  which  had  served  his  dead  mother  as  an  oratory. 
He  ordered  them  to  bring  him  vodka,  seated  himself  at  the 
table,  and  began  to  drink  gloomily,  as  he  listened  to  the 
bustle  in  the  house,  and  to  the  groans  of  the  sufferer  which 
resounded  from  above.  In  the  corner  of  the  room,  dimly 
illuminated  by  the  flickering  flame  of  the  shrine-lamp,  the 
faces  of  the  holy  pictures,  dark  and  impassive,  were  ob- 
scurely outlined.  There,  above,  over  his  head,  feet  stamped 
and  shuffled,  something  heavy  was  dragged  across  the  floor, 
dishes  rattled,  and  people  ran  hastily  up  and  down  the  stair- 
case. Everything  was  done  quickly  and  in  haste,  but  time 
passed  slowly.    Subdued  voices  reached  Ignat's  ear: 

"  If  she  cannot  be  delivered — we  must  send  to  the  church 
and  have  the  doors  of  the  sanctuary  opened." 

16 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Vasstishka,  a  hanger-on  of  the  house,  entered  the  room 
adjoining  that  in  which  Ignat  sat,  and  began  to  pray  in  a 
loud  whisper: 

"  Oh  Lord  our  God, — ^Who  didst  vouchsafe  to  come  down 
from  heaven  and  be  born  of  the  holy  Birth-giver  of  God, — 
who  knowest  the  infirmities  of  the  human  race — pardon 
Thy  servant — ." 

Ignat  cast  gloomy  glances  at  the  holy  pictures,  sighed 
heavily  and  said: 

"Is  it  possible  that  it  will  turn  out  to  be  a  daughter 
again?  *' 

From  time  to  time  he  rose,  stood  stupidly  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  crossed  himself  in  silence,  bowing  low 
before  the  holy  pictures,  then  seated  himself  again  at  the 
table,  drank  vodka,  which  did  not  intoxicate  him — at  such 
times,  dozed — and  thus  spent  the  evening,  and  the  whole 
night,  and  the  next  morning,  until  midday — and  lo,  at  last, 
the  midwife  ran  hastily  down  from  the  chamber  above,  cry- 
ing to  him  in  a  shrill,  joyful  voice: 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  a  son,  Ignat  Matvyeevitch! '' 

"  Are  you  telling  the  truth?  "  he  said  dully. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  good  sir! " 

"With  a  sigh  which  proceeded  from  the  full  force  of 
his  broad  chest,  Ignat  flung  himself  on  his  knees,  and  in  a 
trembling  voice  he  murmured,  as  he  pressed  his  hands 
tightly  to  his  breast: 

"  Glory  to  Thee,  oh  Lord!  Thou  hast  not  willed,  it  ap- 
pears that  my  race  should  die  out!  My  sins  will  not  be 
left  without  justification  in  Thy  sight.  I  thank  Thee,  oh 
Lord — okh!  "  And  immediately  rising  to  his  feet,  he  began 
to  give  orders  in  stentorian  tones: 

"Hey!  Send  someone  to  St.  Nicholas'  Church  for  the 
priest!    Say  that  Ignatiy  Matvyeevitch  desires  his  presence. 

17 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Ask  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  come  and  read  the  prayers  for 
a  woman  who  has  given  birth  to  a  child." 

A  maid  came  to  him,  and  said  in  troubled  tones: 

"Ignatiy  Matvyeevitch!  Natalya  Fominishna  is  asking 
for  you.    She  feels  badly — " 

"Badly?  how  so?  It  will  pass  off!"  he  bellowed,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  joy.  "  Tell  her  I  will  come  at  once! 
Tell  her  she's  a  fine  fellow!  Tell  her  she'll  get  her  con- 
finement-gift immediately!  Wait!  Prepare  luncheon  for 
the  priest — send  for  my  friend  Mayakin!  " 

His  huge  form  seemed  to  have  grown  larger,  and  in- 
toxicated with  joy,  he  flung  himself  awkwardly  about  the 
room;  he  smiled,  rubbed  his  hands,  cast  glances  of  emotion 
at  the  holy  pictures,  and  crossed  himself  with  a  flourish. 

At  last  he  went  to  his  wife. 

Then,  the  first  thing  he  noticed  was  a  tiny  red  body, 
which  the  midwife  was  washing  in  a  tub.  When  he  saw 
that,  Ignat  rose  on  the  tips  of  his  boot-toes,  and  putting 
his  hands  behind  him,  he  drew  near  with  cautious  steps,  and 
with  lips  amusingly  pufl'ed  out.  But  it  whimpered  and 
floundered  in  the  water,  naked,  helpless,  pitifully — touch- 
ing— 

"  What  are  you  about — grasp  him  more  carefully — for 
he  hasn't  any  bones  as  yet,"  said  Ignat  to  the  midwife  in  a 
low  and  entreating  tone.  She  laughed,  opening  her  tooth- 
less mouth  and,  as  it  were,  playing  ball  with  the  baby  from 
hand  to  hand. 

"  You  go  off  to  your  wife    .    .    ." 

He  moved  obediently  towards  the  bed,  and  as  he  went 
inquired: 

"  Well,  how  goes  it,  Natalya?  " 

Then,  as  he  reached  the  bed,  he  thrust  aside  the  curtains 
which  cast  a  shadow  on  it. 

18 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"I  shall  not  survive  it,"  said  the  gentle,  hoarse  voice. 
Ignat  said  nothing,  as  he  gazed  at  his  wife's  face  buried  in 
the  white  pillow,  over  which,  like  dead  serpents,  were  scat- 
tered her  long  dark  locks.  Yellow,  lifeless,  with  black 
rings  around  the  large,  widely-opened  eyes, — he  did  not 
recognize  it.  And  the  gaze  of  those  terrible  eyes,  fixed  im- 
movably upon  something  afar  off,  beyond  the  wall, — was 
strange  also  to  Ignat.  His  heart,  seized  with  a  heavy  fore- 
boding, ceased  its  jojrf-ul  beating. 

"  Never  mind,  it's  nothing, — it  is  always  so," — he  said 
softly,  bending  over  to  kiss  his  wife.  But  she  moaned 
straight  in  his  face : 

"  I  shall  not  survive  it — " 

Her  lips  were  gray,  cold,  and  when  he  touched  them 
with  his  lips,  he  understood  that  death  had  already  laid  its 
hand  upon  her. 

^'  Oh  Lord!  "  he  ejaculated  in  a  frightened  whisper,  con- 
scious that  terror  was  throttling  him  and  preventing  his 
breathing. 

"  Natasha!  What  will  he  do?  For  he  needs  the  mother's 
breast?    Why  do  you  behave  so?  " 

He  almost  shouted  at  his  wife.  The  midwife  bustled 
about  her;  as  she  dandled  the  crying  baby  in  the  air,  she 
talked  to  him  in  a  persuasive  tone,  but  he  heard  nothing, 
and  could  not  tear  his  eyes  away  from  his  wife's  dreadful 
face.  Her  lips  moved,  and  he  heard  gentle  words,  but  did 
not  understand  them.  As  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
he  said  in  a  dull,  and  timid  voice: 

"  Consider — he  cannot  get  on  without  you — for  he  is  a 
little  baby!  Take  courage;  drive  away  the  thought!  Drive 
it  away " 

He  spoke — ^but  understood  that  his  words  were  super- 
fluous.   Tears  welled  up  within  him,  and  something  heavy 

19 


Foma  Gordy^efif 

as  a  stone,  cold  as  an  iceberg  came  into  being  in  his 
breast. 

"Forgive  me — farewell!  Be  careful — see  that  you  don't 
drink    .    /'  whispered  Natalya  almost  inaudibly. 

The  priest  came,  and  covering  her  face  with  something, 
he  began,  with  a  sigh,  to  read  over  her  words  of  gentle 
entreaty: 

"  Oh  Lord  God  Almighty,  who  healest  every  infirmity, 
heal  also  this  Thy  servant  Natalya,  who  this  day  hath 
borne  a  child, — and  raise  her  up  from  the  bed  whereon 
she  lieth — for  as  spake  the  Prophet  David:  for  in  sin  were 
we  conceived,  and  we  are  all  vile  in  Thy  sight.    .    ." 

The  old  man's  voice  gave  way,  his  gaunt  face  was  stern, 
and  his  garments  gave  forth  an  odor  of  incense. 

"  — preserve  the  child  which  hath  been  bom  of  her  from 
all  evil,  from  every  cruel  thing,  from  every  storm  .  .  from 
evil  spirits  of  the  day  and  of  the  night.    .    .'' 

Ignat  listened  to  the  prayer  and  wept  in  silence.  His 
tears,  big  and  hot,  fell  upon  his  wife's  bare  arm;  but  her 
arm  must  have  been  insensible  to  the  fall  of  the  tears:  it 
remained  motionless,  and  the  skin  did  not  quiver  from 
the  dropping  tears.  Having  received  the  prayer,  Natalya 
became  unconscious  and  died  on  the  following  day,  without 
having  said  another  word  to  anyone — died  as  taciturn  as 
she  had  lived.  After  providing  a  magnificent  funeral  for 
his  wife,  Ignat  had  his  son  baptized,  and  named  him  Foma, 
and,  repressing  his  feelings,  transferred  the  baby  to  the 
family  of  the  godfather,  his  old  friend  Mayakin,  whose  wife 
had  also  had  a  child  a  short  time  previously.  The  death  of 
his  wife  sowed  many  a  gray  hair  in  Ignat's  thick,  dark 
beard,  but  a  new  expression — a  softly-gracious  expression — 
made  its  appearance  in  the  surly  gleam  of  his  eyes. 


II 

Matakin  lived  in  a  vast,  two-storey  house,  with  a  large 
garden,  in  which  huge  ancient  linden-trees  grew  widely  and 
luxuriantly.  The  thick  branches  covered  the  windows  of 
the  house  with  a  close,  dark  lace-work,  and  the  sun  pene- 
trated with  difficulty  through  this  curtain  into  the  small 
rooms,  closely  set  with  varied  furniture  and  large  chests, 
so  that  a  dense  and  austere  twilight  always  reigned  in  the 
apartments.  It  was  a  devout  family — and  the  odor  of  wax, 
incense  and  ohve-oil  for  the  shrine-lamps  filled  the  house; 
sighs  of  penitence,  words  of  prayer  hovered  in  the  air.  All 
ceremonial  observances  were  fulfilled  accurately,  with  de- 
light, and  into  them  was  injected  the  entire  free  force  of 
soul  of  the  mansion^s  inhabitants.  Through  the  gloomy, 
stifling  and  heavy  atmosphere  of  the  rooms,  almost  with- 
out a  rustle  moved  female  forms  clad  in  sombre  gowns, 
bearing  always  an  expression  of  spiritual  contrition  on  their 
countenances,  and  wearing  always  soft  slippers  on  their 
feet. 

The  family  of  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  [Mayakin  consisted  of 
himself,  his  wife,  his  daughter  and  five  female  relatives, 
of  whom  the  youngest  was  thirty-four  years  of  age.  They 
were  all  equally  pious,  lacking  in  individuality,  and  equally 
in  subjection  to  Antonina  Ivanovna,  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  with  a  swarthy  face  and  stern 
gray  eyes,  whose  gleam  was  authoritative  and  intelligent. 
Mayakin  had  also,  a  son,  Taras,  but  his  name  was  never  men- 
tioned in  the  family,  though  the  friends  of  the  family  knew 

21 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

that  from  the  time  when  the  nineteen-year-old  Taras  had 
gone  to  Moscow  to  pursue  his  studies  and  he  had  married 
there  three  years  later,  against  his  father's  will,  and  YakoS 
had  disowned  him,  Taras  had  disappeared  and  no  one  could 
tell  where  he  was.  It  was  rumored  that  he  had  heen  exiled 
to  Siberia  for  some  deed  or  other. 

Yakoff  Mayakin  presented  a  very  strange  figure.  Short 
of  stature;  thin  and  alert,  with  a  small,  fiery-red  beard,  the 
glance  of  his  greenish,  crafty  eyes  seemed  to  say  to  men 
collectively  and  individually: 

"  Never  mind,  sir!  Do  not  feel  uneasy!  I  understand 
you,  but  if  you  let  me  alone  I'll  not  betray  you." 

His  head  resembled  an  egg  in  shape,  and  was  large  to 
deformity.  His  lofty  forehead,  furrowed  with  wrinkles, 
joined  a  bald  spot,  and  it  seemed  as  if  this  man  had  two 
faces, — a  penetrating  and  intelligent  face,  with  a  long,  car- 
tilaginous nose,  visible  to  all  men, — and  a  second  face,  de- 
void of  eyes  and  mouth,  with  nothing  but  wrinkles,  behind 
which  Mayakin  appeared  to  be  hiding  both  eyes  and  lips 
until  the  right  time  should  arrive — and  when  it  did  arrive 
he  would  gaze  upon  the  w^orld  with  quite  different  eyes,  and 
smile  upon  it  with  an  entirely  different  smile. 

He  was  the  owner  of  a  rope-walk,  and  had  a  small  shop 
in  town,  near  the  wharves.  In  this  shop,  crammed  to  the 
very  ceiling  with  ropes,  cords,  hemp  and  tow,  he  had  a 
tiny  den,  with  a  squeaking  glazed  door.  In  this  room  stood 
a  huge,  ugly,  old  table,  and  before  it  a  deep  arm-chair 
covered  with  oil-cloth,  in  which  Mayakin  sat  for  days  at  a 
time,  drinking  tea  and  reading,  over  and  over  again,  the 
same  numbers  of  the  "  Moscow  News,"  to  which  he  had 
subscribed  year  after  year,  all  his  life.  He  enjoyed  the 
respect  of  the  merchant  class,  and  the  fame  of  a  "  brainy  " 
man,  and  he  was  very  fond  of  thrusting  into  evidence  the 
antiquity  of  his  family,  sa3dng  in  his  hoarse  voice: 

22 


Foma  Gordyeeflf 

**We  Maj^akins  were  merchants  under  Mother  Kath- 
arine ^ — so  I  am  a  man  of  good  blood." 

In  this  family  Ignat  Gordyeeff^s  son  spent  six  years.  In 
his  seventh  year,  Foma  was  a  big-headed,  broadshoiildered 
lad,  who  appeared  older  than  his  years,  both  in  stature  and 
in  the  gaze  of  his  dark,  almond-shaped  eyes.  Gentle,  taciturn 
and  persistent  in  his  childish  desires,  he  amused  himself 
for  days  together  with  his  playthings,  in  company  with 
Mayakin's  daughter  Liuba,  under  the  silent  superintendence 
of  one  of  the  female  relatives,  a  fat,  pock-marked  old  spin- 
ster who,  for  some  reason  or  other,  was  called  "  Lumpy." 
She  was  a  thoroughly  stupid  creature,  and  appeared  to  be 
afraid  of  something;  even  with  the  children  she  spoke  in  a 
very  low  tone,  using  monosyllabic  words.  She  knew  a 
multitude  of  prayers,  but  never  related  a  single  fairy-tale  to 
Foma. 

Foma  lived  on  friendly  terms  with  the  little  girl,  but 
when  she  angered  him  in  any  way,  or  teased  him,  he  turned 
pale,  his  nostrils  dilated,  he  opened  his  eyes  ridiculously 
wide,  and  administered  a  violent  beating  to  her.  She  wept, 
ran  to  her  mother  and  complained  to  her,  but  Antonina 
loved  Foma,  and  paid  very  little  heed  to  her  daughter's 
complaints;  which  served  to  strengthen  still  more  the 
children's  friendship. 

Foma's  day  was  long  and  monotonous.  As  soon  as  he 
had  risen  from  bed  and  washed  himself,  he  took  up  his 
stand  before  the  holy  images,  and  prompted  in  a  whisper 
by  pockmarked  "  Lumpy,"  he  recited  long  prayers.  Then 
they  drank  tea,  and  with  it  ate  a  great  many  white  rolls 
made  with  milk,  eggs  and  butter,  flat  cakes  and  patties. 

'  The  Empress  Katherine  II.  Matushka,  "  mother,"  or  "  dear  little 
mother,"  is  a  term  of  affectionate  respect  to  superiors  or  equals. — 
Translator. 

23 


Fom&  Gordyeeff 

After  tea — ^in  summer — the  children  betook  themselves  to 
the  huge,  overgrown  garden,  which  sloped  down  to  a  ravine, 
whose  bottom  Was  always  dark.  The  ravine  exhaled  damp- 
ness and  something  which  inspired  dread.  The  children 
were  not  allowed  to  approach  even  the  brink  of  the  ravine, 
and  this  fact  inspired  them  with  terror  of  it.  In  winter, 
from  the  hour  of  morning  tea  until  dinner,  they  played  in 
the  house,  if  it  was  very  cold  out  of  doors,  or  went  out  and 
coasted  down  huge  ice-hills.  They  dined  at  midday — 
"  Eussian  fashion,*^  as  Mayakin  said.  First  a  huge  tureen 
of  greasy  cabbage-soup  with  slices  of  rye  bread  which  had 
been  dried  in  the  oven  floating  in  it,  was  placed  on  the 
table;  but  there  was  no  meat  in  it.  Next  they  ate  the  same 
soup  with  meat  cut  up  in  small  bits;  then  came  the  roast — 
a  pig,  a  goose,  veal  or  pig-belly  stuffed  with  buckwheat 
groats;  then  came  another  tureen  of  "  pluck  "  or  vermicelli 
soup:  and  all  this  wound  up  with  some  sort  of  sweet  dish, 
or  one  made  of  butter,  eggs  and  milk.  They  drank  kvas,^ 
either  cranberry,  juniper  or  rye, — Antonina  Ivanovna  al- 
ways had  several  sorts  on  hand.  They  ate  in  silence,  merely 
sighing  now  and  then  with  weariness;  a  separate  bowl  of 
soup  for  two  was  provided  for  the  children,  while  all  the 
elder  people  ate  from  the  other.  Stupefied  by  this  meal, 
they  lay  down  for  a  nap,  and  for  the  next  two  or  three  hours 
nothing  was  to  be  heard  in  Mayakin's  house  but  snores  and 
somnolent  sighs. 

When  they  woke  up,  they  drank  tea,  and  after  tea  they 
discussed  the  news  of  the  town,  the  church  choristers,  the 
deacons,  the  weddings,  the  disgraceful  conduct  of  one  mer- 
chant or  another  of  their  acquaintance. — After  tea  Mayakin 
would  say  to  his  wife: 

*  A  non-intoxicating  beverage  generally  made  of  rye  meal,  or  some 
rye  bread  with  water  and  fermented. — Translator. 

24 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Well,  now,  mother,  fetch  hither  the  Bible." 

Most  frequently  of  all  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  read  the  Book 
of  Job.  After  he  had  placed  on  his  huge  nose,  in  shape 
like  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey,  a  pair  of  spectacles  with 
heavy  silver  rims,  he  stared  at  all  present  in  turn  to  see 
whether  they  were  all  in  their  places. 

There  they  all  sat,  where  he  was  accustomed  to  see  them, 
and  their  faces  bore  th-e  dull  and  timorous  expression  of 
piety  which  he  knew  so  well. 

"  There  was  a  man  in  the  Land  of  Uz,"  began  Mayakin 
in  his  hoarse  voice,  and  Foma,  who  sat  beside  Liiiba  on 
the  divan  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  knew  that  his  god- 
father would  immediately  pause  and  stroke  his  bald  spot. 
As  he  sat  and  listened,  he  pictured  to  himself  that  man 
from  the  land  of  Uz.  The  man  was  tall  and  naked,  his 
eyes  were  immense,  like  those  of  the  holy  image  of  the 
Saviour-not-made-with-hands,  and  his  voice  was  like  a 
huge  brass  trumpet,  like  those  which  soldiers  play  upon  in 
camp.  The  man  grew  bigger  every  minute;  he  shot  up 
to  the  very  sky,  and  plunged  his  hands  into  the  clouds,  and 
rending  them  apart,  shouted  in  a  terrible  voice: 

"  Why  is  light  given  to  a  man  whose  way  is  hid,  and 
whom  God  hath  hedged  in  with  darkness?  " 

Foma  was  frightened  and  began  to  tremble:  his  drowsi- 
ness fled,  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  god-father,  who  re- 
marked with  fine  sarcasm,  as  he  plucked  at  his  beard: 

"  Well,  he  was  very  daring." 

Foma  knew  that  his  god-father  was  saying  this  concern- 
ing the  man  from  the  land  of  Uz,  and  his  god-father's 
smile  calmed  the  boy.  That  man  would  not  break  down 
the  sky  or  tear  it  in  pieces  with  his  terrible  hands.  And 
again  Foma  saw  the  man; — he  was  sitting  on  the  ground, 
"  his  body  was  clothed  with  worms,  and  clods  of  dust;  his 

25 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

skin  was  broken  and  become  loathsome."  But  now  he  was 
small  and  pitiful,  he  was  just  like  the  poor  beggars  on  the 
church  steps. 

Now  he  speaks: 

"  What  is  man  that  thou  shouldest  magnify  him,  and 
that  thou  shouldest  set  thine  heart  upon  him?  " 

"  He  was  deemed  worthy — the  righteous  man,"  said  the 
female  auditors  with  a  sigh.  Yakoff  Mayakin  stared  at 
them,  grinning,  and  said: 

"  Fools    .    .    .    Take  those  children  away  to  bed." 

Ignat  came  to  Mayakin's  house  every  day,  brought  his 
son  playthings,  seized  him  in  his  arms  and  squeezed  him, 
but  now  and  then,  he  said  to  him  with  displeasure,  and  with 
badly-dissimulated  uneasiness: 

"  Why  are  you  such  a  shy  fellow?  Phe — e — ewl  Why 
don't  you  laugh  more?  " 

And  he  complained  to  his  crony: 

"  I'm  afraid  Foma  takes  after  his  mother.  His  eyes  are 
not  merry.    Any  more  than  hers  were." 

"  It's  very  early  for  you  to  feel  uneasy,"  laughed 
Mayakin. 

He  also  loved  his  godson,  and  when,  one  day,  Ignat 
announced  to  him  that  he  was  going  to  take  Foma  home 
with  him,  Mayakin  was  genuinely  distressed. 

"  Leave  him  here,"  he  entreated.  "  You  see — ^the  little 
lad  has  become  used  to  our  ways:  he'll  cry  there — " 

"  He'll  stop  that  after  a  while, — I  didn't  beget  a  son  for 
your  benefit.  The  atmosphere  in  your  house  is  heavy, — 
tedious,  exactly  as  in  a  forest-monastery  of  Old  Believers. 
It  is  injurious  to  the  child.  And  it  is  not  cheerful  for  me 
without  him.  When  I  come  home, — the  house  is  empty. 
I  don't  want  to  look  at  anything.  I  can't  move  over  to 
your  house  for  his  sake — I'm  not  bound  to  order  my  life 

26 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

to  suit  him,  but  he  is  bound  to  conform  to  my  ideas.  That's 
the  state  of  the  case.  Moreover,  my  sister  Anfisa  has  come 
to  live  with  me  now — there  will  be  some  one  to  look  after 
him." 

So  the  little  boy  was  taken  to  his  father's  house. 

There  he  was  received  by  a  ridiculous  old  woman,  with 
a  long,  hooked  nose,  and  a  huge,  toothless  mouth.  She  was 
tall,  round-shouldered,  clad  in  a  gray  gown,  her  gray  hair 
covered  with  a  black  silk  cap,  and  at  first  the  boy  did  not 
like  her — was  even  afraid  of  her.  But  when  he  saw  her 
black  eyes  smiling  at  him  out  of  her  wrinkled  visage, — 
he  immediately  thrust  his  head  confidingly  on  her  knees. 

"  My  poor  little  orphan! "  she  said  in  a  velvety  voice, 
which  quivered  from  fulness  of  resonance,  and  passed  her 
hand  gently  over  his  face.  "Why,  how  he  clings — my 
dear  child! " 

There  was  something  peculiarly  sweet  and  soft  in  her 
caress,  something  entirely  new  to  Foma,  and  he  gazed  into 
the  old  woman's  eyes  with  curiosity  and  expectation  de- 
picted on  his  little  face.  The  old  woman  introduced  him 
into  a  world  which  was  new  and  hitherto  unknown  to  him. 
The  first  day,  when  she  put  him  to  bed,  she  sat  down  be- 
side him,  bent  over  the  child  and  asked  him: 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  fairy-story,  Fomushka?  " 

And  from  that  time  forth  Foma  always  fell  asleep  to 
the  velvety  sounds  of  the  old  woman's  voice,  conjuring  up 
before  him  the  life  of  enchantment.  Epic  heroes  who  con- 
quered monsters,  wise  daughters  of  Kings,  fools  who  proved 
themselves  wiser  still — whole  throngs  of  new  and  wondrous 
personages  passed  in  review  before  the  fascinated  imagina- 
tion of  the  boy,  and  eagerly  nourished  his  soul  with  the 
healthy  beauty  of  popular  creative  power.  Inexhaustible 
were  the  treasures  of  memory  and  fancy  in  this  old  woman, 

27 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

who  often  through  his  dreamy  dozing,  appeared  to  the  boy 
to  resemble  now  the  Witch- Woman  of  the  legends — only 
a  good  and  kind  Witch- Woman;  or  again  the  beautiful 
Vasilisa  Most- Wise.  With  eyes  very  wide  open,  and  hold- 
ing his  breath,  the  boy  stared  through  the  nocturnal  gloom 
which  filled  the  chamber,  and  beheld  it  quiver  gently  from 
the  spark-like  flame  of  the  shrine-lamp,  which  burned  in 
front  of  the  holy  picture. — And  Foma  peopled  it  with  won- 
derful pictures  of  the  life  of  fairyland.  Speechless  but 
living  shadows  crept  along  the  walls  and  across  the  floor, 
and  the  boy  watched  their  life  with  fear  and  delight,  and 
endowed  them  with  forms,  with  colors — and  after  having 
created  life  from  them — with  one  movement  of  his  eye- 
lashes, he  destroyed  it,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Some 
new  element  made  its  appearance  in  his  dark  eyes — some- 
thing more  childlike  and  ingenuous,  less  serious;  solitude 
and  darkness,  by  awakening  in  him  a  painful  feeling  of 
expectancy  of  something  or  other,  troubled,  and  excited  his 
curiosity,  made  him  retreat  to  a  dark  corner,  and  peer  into 
it  to  discover  what  was  hidden  there,  under  the  thick  mantle 
of  gloom?  He  went,  found  nothing,  but  never  abandoned 
the  hope  that  he  might  find  something    .    . 

As  for  his  father, — he  feared  and  respected  him.  Ignat's 
huge  size,  his  trumpet-like,  bubbling  voice,  his  bearded 
face,  his  head  in  its  thick  cap  of  gray  hair,  his  long,  sturdy 
arms,  and  flashing  eyes — all  these  imparted  to  Ignat  a  like- 
ness to  the  robbers  of  the  fairy-tales. 

Foma  quivered  when  he  heard  his  voice,  or  his  firm, 
heavy  footsteps;  but  when  his  father,  smiling  amiably  and 
shouting  something  tender  until  the  walls  rang  again,  took 
him  upon  his  knees,  or  tossed  him  high  in  the  air  with  his 
broad  palms — ^the  little  boy's  fear  vanished. 

One  day,  when  he  was  already  in  his  eighth  year,  he 

38 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

asked  his  father,  who  had  just  returned  from  a  prolonged 
journey  in  some  direction: 

"  Daddy!    Where  have  you  been?  ^' 

"  Travelling  on  the  Volga." 

'*  Eobbing — as  a  pirate?  "  asked  Foma  quietly. 

"  Wha — at?"  said  Ignat  slowly,  and  his  brows  quivered. 

*'But  you  are  a  pirate,  aren't  you,  daddy?  You  see,  I 
know  " — said  Foma  with  a  sly  wink,  delighted  to  have  so 
easily  guessed  his  father's  life  which  was  a  secret  to  him. 

"  I  am — a  merchant! "  said  Ignat  sternly;  but  after 
thinking  the  matter  over,  he  smiled  good-naturedly,  and 
added:  **and  you  are  a  little  fool!  I  deal  in  grain,  I  run 
steamers  .  .  .  you  have  seen  the  'Yermak?'  Well 
then,  that  steamer  belongs  to  me — and  to  you." 

"  It's  awfully  big,"  remarked  Foma,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Well,  I'll  buy  you  a  little  one,  as  long  as  you  are  little 
yourself    .    .    .    Shall  I?" 

"All  right!"  assented  Foma,  but  after  a  thoughtful  si- 
lence he  began  again,  slowly,  with  regret: 

*'  But  I  thought  you  were  a  pirate  al-so,  like  a  hero    .    ." 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  am  a  merchant! "  repeated  Ignat  im- 
pressively, and  the  look  which  he  bent  on  the  disappointed 
face  of  his  son  was  rather  displeased  and  almost  timid. 

"  Like  old  Feodor,  who  peddles  rolls?  "  asked  Fomd,  after 
he  had  thought  it  over. 

"  Well,  yes,  like  him — only  I  am  richer,  I  have  a  great 
deal  more  money  than  Feodor  has." 

"  A  great  deal  of  money?  " 

"  Well — some  people  have  more." 

"  How  many  casks  have  you?  " 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  money?  " 

"  You  little  fool!    Is  money  measured  by  casks?  " 

29 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"How  else?"  exclaimed  Foma  vivaciously,  and  turning 
his  face  towards  his  father,  he  began  hastily  to  tell  him: 
"  Why  the  brigand  Maksimka  entered  one  town,  and  filled 
twelve  casks  with  money  at  the  house  of  a  rich  man  there 
— and  got  a  lot  of  silver,  and  robbed  the  church  .  .  .  and 
chopped  up  one  man  with  his  sword,  and  flung  him  down 
from  the  belfry, — because  the  man  was  beginning  to  ring 
an  alarm-peal    .    .    ." 

"Did  your  aunt  tell  you  all  that?"  inquired  Ignat,  ad- 
miring his  son's  animation. 

"Yes,  what  of  it?" 

"Nothing!"  replied  Ignat,  with  a  laugh.  "So  you 
actually  have  promoted  your  father  to  a  pirate " 

"  But  perhaps  you  were  one  sometime,  long  ago?  "  Foma 
reverted  to  his  first  idea,  and  from  his  face  it  was  plain 
that  he  very  strongly  desired  to  receive  an  afl^rmative 
answer. 

"  I  never  was — drop  that." 

"  You  never  were?  " 

"Don't  I  tell  you  that  I  never  was!  What  a  boy  you 
are!  Is  it  nice  to  be  a  pirate?  Pirates  are  all  sinners. 
They  don't  believe  in  God — they  rob  churches — they  are 
all  anathematized  in  the  churches.  Well — now — I'll  tell 
you  what,  my  son,  you  must  go  to  school!  It's  high  time, 
my  boy,  you  are  nearly  nine  years  old.  So  begin,  and  God 
be  with  you.  You  shall  study  all  winter,  and  in  the  spring 
I  will  take  you  for  a  voyage  on  the  Volga  with  me." 

"  Am  I  to  go  to  school?  "  asked  Foma  timidly. 

"  You  shall  study  at  home  first,  with  your  aunt." 

And  soon  the  boy  sat  down  in  the  morning  at  his  table, 
and  drawing  his  finger  over  the  Slavonic  alphabet,  began 
to  repeat  after  his  aunt: 

"  Az  (a)    .    .    buki  (b)    .    .    vyedi  (v) '' 

30 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

When  they  reached  hra,  vra,  gra,  dra,  the  boy  was  un- 
able, for  a  long  time,  to  read  these  syllables  without  laugh- 
ing. Foma  mastered  all  this  wisdom  easily,  almost  without 
an  effort,  and  soon  he  began  to  read  the  first  psalm  of  the 
first  selection  from  the  Psalter: 

'*  Bles-sed  is  the  man, who  hath  not  wal-ked 

in  the  coun-sel  of  the  un-god-ly    .    .    ." 

"  That^s  it,  my  darling,  that's  it!  That's  exactly  right, 
Fomushka ! "  his  aunt  kept  repeating  to  him  with  loving 
delight  at  his  progress. 

"  You're  a  smart  fellow,  Foma! "  said  Ignat  approvingly 
and  seriously,  when  he  was  informed  of  his  son's  progress. 
"  In  the  spring  we  will  go  to  Astrakhan,  for  fish,  and  in  the 
autumn  you  shall  go  to  school !  " 

The  boy's  life  ran  on  as  smoothly  as  a  ball  rolls  down 
hill.  His  aunt  was  not  only  his  teacher  but  his  comrade  in 
his  play.  Litiba  Mayakin  came;  and  in  their  society  the 
old  woman  was  transformed  into  just  such  another  merry 
child  as  they.  They  played  at  hide  and  seek,  and  blind 
man's  buff:  it  pleased  and  amused  the  children  to  see 
Anfisa,  her  eyes  blinded  with  a  kerchief,  and  her  arms 
widely  extended,  stalking  cautiously  about  the  room,  yet 
stumbling  against  the  tables  and  chairs;  or  creeping  into 
divers  commodious  corners  in  search  of  them,  and  saying: 

"  Oh  the  rogues,  oh  the  brigands!  where  have  they  hid- 
den themselves  ?    Hey?"  I 

And  the  sun  shone  gaily  and  amiably  upon  that  aged, 
wom-oat  body,  which  had  preserved  its  youthful  spirit, 
upon  the  old  life  which  was  embellishing,  to  the  best  of  its 
powers  and  understanding,  the  life-path  of  two  children. 

Ignat  went  off  early  to  the  Exchange,  sometimes  did  not 
make  his  appearance  until  it  was  almost  evening,  and  in 
the  evening  went  to  the  city  council,  to  the  houses  of  his 

31 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

friends  or  to  some  other  place.  Sometimes  he  arrived  at 
home  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  At  first,  Foma  ran  away 
and  hid  from  him  on  such  occasions;  afterwards  he  grew 
accustomed  to  it,  and  liked  his  father  that  way  even  better^ 
than  when  he  was  sober:  he  was  kinder,  simpler  and  rather 
absurd.  If  this  happened  at  night  the  boy  was  always 
awakened  by  his  father's  trumpet-like  voice: 

"Anfisa — a!  My  own  sister!  Let  me  go  to  my  son — 
to  my  heir — let  me  in! '' 

"  Go  away,  go  away, — get  to  sleep,  you  impious  fiend! 
Have  you  been  getting  drunk  again,  hey?  Why,  your  hair 
is  gray    .    .    ." 

*'Anfisa?  Can't  I  see  my  son?  Just  a  peep,  with  one 
eye?" 

"  May  both  your  eyes  burst  with  your  drunkenness!  " 

Foma  knew  that  his  aunt  would  not  admit  his  father, 
and  fell  asleep  again,  lulled  by  their  voices.  But  when 
Ignat  made  his  appearance  in  a  state  of  intoxication  by 
day, — his  huge  paws  immediately  seized  upon  his  son,  and 
with  a  drunken,  happy  smile  the  father  carried  Foma  about 
the  house,  and  asked  him: 

"Fomka!  What  do  you  want?  Speak!  Presents? 
Toys?  Come,  ask  me!  For  you  know — there's  nothing  in 
the  world  that  I  will  not  buy  for  you.  I  have  a  million! 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  And  there  will  be  still  more!  Do  you  under- 
stand?   All  is  yours.    Ha,  ha!" 

And  all  of  a  sudden  his  ecstasy  was  extinguished,  as  a 
candle  is  extinguished  by  a  strong  gust  of  wind.  His 
drunken  face  quivered,  his  reddened  eyes,  filled  with  tears, 
and  his  lips  expanded  in  a  timid,  depressed  smile. 

"Anfisa!  What  if  he  were  to  die — what  should  I  do 
then?  " 

And,  after  these  words,  rage  overpowered  him. 

82 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Fll  bum  up  everything!"  he  roared,  fixing  his  eyes 
wildly  on  some  spot  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  room. — "Fll 
destroy  everything!    I'll  blow  it  up  with  powder!  " 

"  Stop  that,  you  ugly  phiz!  Do  you  wish  to  scare  the 
child?  Do  you  wish  to  make  him  fall  ill?  "  exhorted  Anfisa: 
and  this  was  enough  to  make  Ignat  disappear  in  a  trice, 
muttering: 

"  Well — ^well — well!  I'm  going,  I'm  going — only  don't 
scream  at  me!  Don't  make  such  a  row — don't  frighten 
him    .    ." 

And  if  Foma  did  not  feel  well,  his  father,  abandoning  all 
his  business,  never  left  the  house,  and  worried  his  sister 
and  his  son  with  stupid  questions  and  advice,  strode  about 
the  house  with  terror  depicted  in  his  eyes,  quite  unlike 
himself,  and  groaned. 

"Why  do  you  anger  God?"  said  Anfisa.  "Look  out, 
or  your  grumbling  will  reach  the  Lord's  ear  and  He  will 
chastize  you  for  your  complaints  about  His  mercies  towards 
you." 

"  Eh,  sister!  "  sighed  Ignat.  "  Just  imagine ^if  any- 
thing were  to  happen  to  him — my  whole  life  would  be 
ruined!    What  have  I  lived  for?    I  don't  know    .    .    ." 

Similar  scenes  and  abrupt  transitions  in  his  father  from 
one  mood  to  another  frightened  the  boy  at  first,  but  he 
soon  became  accustomed  to  them,  and  when,  from  the  win- 
dow, he  beheld  his  father  alighting  from  his  sledge,  he 
would  remark  indifferently: 

"  Aunty!    Daddy  has  come  home  drunk  again!  " 


Spring  came,  and  Ignat,  in  fulfilment  of  his  promise, 
took  his  son  with  him  on  the  steamer,  and  a  new  life,  rich 
in  impressions,  unrolled  itself  before  Foma's  vision. 

Swiftly  down  stream  floated  the  handsome  and  powerful 

33 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Yermak/'  merchant  Gordyeeff's  steam-tug,  and  on  both 
sides  of  it  the  shores  of  that  mighty  beauty,  the  Volga, 
moved  to  meet  it, — the  left  shore  all  bathed  in  sunshine, 
extended  to  the  very  horizon,  like  a  splendid  green  carpet, 
while  the  right  thrust  its  cliffs,  overgrown  with  forest,  up 
into  the  sky,  and  sank  into  surly  repose. 

Between  them,  in  a  magnificent  sweep,  flowed  the  broad- 
breasted  Volga;  triumphantly,  without  haste  flow  her 
waters,  conscious  of  their  unconquerable  power;  the  hill- 
shore  was  reflected  in  them  like  a  dark  shadow,  but  on  the 
left  side  she  w^as  adorned  with  gold  and  emerald  velvet  by 
the  sandy  borders  of  the  reefs,  and  the  broad  meadows. 
Now  here,  now  there,  on  the  hills,  and  in  the  meadows,  ap- 
peared villages,  the  sun  sparkled  in  the  window-panes  of 
the  cottages,  and  upon  the  roofs  of  yellow  straw;  the 
crosses  of  the  churches  gleamed  through  the  foliage  of  the 
trees,  the  gray  wings  of  the  mills  rotated  lazily  through  the 
air,  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys  of  a  factory  curled  sky- 
ward in  thick  black  wreaths.  Throngs  of  children  in  blue, 
red  and  white  blouses,  stood  upon  the  bank,  greeting  the 
steamer  with  loud  shouts  which  awakened  the  river  from 
its  quietude;  and  from  under  the  steamer's  wheels,  merry 
waves  flowed  swiftly  to  the  feet  of  the  children  and  plashed 
upon  the  shore.  Here  a  whole  covey  of  children  had  seated 
themselves  in  a  boat,  and  rowed  hastily  into  midstream,  in 
order  that  they  mi^t  rock  upon  the  waves  as  upon  the 
surge  of  the  sea.  Above  the  surface  of  the  water  peeped 
forth  the  crests  of  trees,  sometimes  whole  clumps  of  them, 
drowned  in  the  spring  flood,  and  stood  up  amid  the  water 
like  islands.  From  some  spot  on  the  bank,  with  a  heavy 
sigh,  rang  out  the  mournful  song: 

"  0 — eh — 0 — 0 — 0 — heave-ho — once  more!  " 
The  steamer  passed  rafts,  splashing  them  with  water. 

34 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  logs  moved  steadily  and  continuously  onward  pro- 
pelled by  the  surge  of  the  recurring  waves;  the  raftsmen 
in  their  blue  blouses,  as  they  tottered  with  the  shock,  gazed 
at  the  steamer  and  laughed  and  shouted  inaudible  remarks. 
A  handsome,  big-bodied,  fiat-bottomed  barge,  put  together 
with  wooden  pegs,  floated  sideways  down  the  river:  the 
yellow  planks  with  which  it  was  laden  shone  like  gold,  and 
were  dimly  reflected  in  the  turbid  water  of  the  spring  flood. 
A  passenger-steamer  coming  to  meet  them  whistled,  and 
the  dull  echo  of  the  whistle  lost  itself  in  the  forest,  in  the 
clefts  of  the  hill-shore,  and  died  away  there.  In  the  middle 
of  the  stream,  the  waves  from  the  two  steamers  came  to- 
gether and  beat  against  their  sides,  and  the  vessels  rocked 
on  the  water.  On  the  slopes  of  the  hill-shore  stretched 
green  carpets  of  winter-sown  grain,  brown  strips  of  fallow 
land,  and  black  strips  ploughed  for  spring  grain.  Birds, 
like  little  specks  in  air,  hovered  over  them,  and  were  plainly 
visible  against  the  blue  expanse  of  sky;  a  flock  was  graz- 
ing near  at  hand, — from  a  distance  it  appeared  like  a  toy 
flock,  and  the  tiny  figure  of  the  shepherd  stood  supported 
on  his  staff  gazing  at  the  river. 

On  all  sides  was  the  gleaming  water,  on  all  sides  were 
space  and  freedom,  cheerfully-green  meadows,  and  gra- 
ciously-clear blue  sky;  in  the  quiet  motion  of  the  water, 
restrained  power  could  be  felt;  in  the  heaven  above  it  shone 
the  beautiful  sun,  the  air  was  saturated  with  the  fragrance 
of  evergreen  trees,  and  the  fresh  scent  of  foliage.  The 
shores  advanced  in  greeting,  soothing  the  eye  and  the  soul 
with  their  beauty,  and  new  pictures  were  constantly  un- 
folded upon  them. 

Oq  everything  round  about  rested  the  stamp  of  a  cer- 
tain sluggishness:  everything — ^nature  and  people — -lived 
awkwardly,  lazily; — ^but  in  this  laziness  there  was  a  certain 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

peculiar  grace  and,  it  would  seem  that  behind  the  laziness 
was  concealed  a  huge  force,  an  unconcmerable  force,  as 
y€ni5lionH(ilou»  of 'itsfelflTnot  having,  as^yet,  created  ^or 
itself  clear  desires  and  aims.  .  .  .  And  the  absence  of 
consciousness  in  this  half-somnolent  existence  cast  upon 
its  whole  beautiful  expanse  a  shade  of  melancholy.  Sub- 
missive patience,  the  silent  expectation  of  something  new 
and  more  active  was  audible  even  in  the  call  of  the  cuckoo, 
as  it  flew  with  the  wind  from  the  shore,  over  the  river.  The 
mournful  songs,  also,  seemed  to  entreat  aid  from  some  one. 
And,  at  times,  the  audacity  of  despair  rang  through  them. 
The  river  made  answer  to  the  songs  with  sighs.  And  the 
crests  of  the  trees  rocked  pensively    .    .    .    Silence. — 

Foma  passed  entire  days  on  the  captain's  bridge  with  his 
father.  Silently,  with  eyes  very  wide  open,  he  gazed  at 
the  endless  panorama  of  the  shores,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  moving  along  a  broad  silver  pathway  towards 
those  wondrous  kingdoms  where  dwelt  the  enchanters  and 
epic  heroes  of  the  familiar  fairy-tales.  At  times  he  at- 
tempted to  interrogate  his  father  about  what  he  saw.  Ignat 
answered  him  willingly  and  in  detail,  but  his  answers  did 
not  please  the  boy:  they  contained  nothing  interesting  or 
comprehensible  to  him,  and  he  heard  nothing  concern- 
ing what  he  would  have  liked  to  hear.  One  day  he  an- 
nounced to  his  father,  with  a  sigh: 

^'  Aunty  Anf isa  knows  better  than  you  do." 

"  What  does  she  know?  "  inquired  Ignat,  laughing. 

"  Everything,"  replied  the  boy  with  conviction. 

The  wondrous  kingdoms  did  not  make  their  appearance. 
But  towns  frequently  appeared  on  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
towns  precisely  like  the  one  in  which  Foma  lived.  Some 
of  them  were  larger,  some  smaller;  but  ^he  people,  the 
houses,  the  churches — everything  in  them  was  exactly  the 

36 


Foma  Gordy6eff 

same  as  in  his  native  town.  Foma  inspected  them  in  his 
father's  company,  was  dissatisfied  with  them,  and  returned 
to  the  steamer  cross  and  tired. 

"  Tomorrow  we  shall  reach  Astrakhan,"  said  Ignat  one 
day. 

"  And  it— is  it  like  all  the  others?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  of  course    .    .    .    but  what  of  that  ?  '^ 

"  And  beyond  it — what  is  there  ?  " 

"  The  sea — the  Caspian  Sea  it  is  called." 

"  And  what  is  there  in  it?  " 

"Fish,  you  queer  creature!  What  can  there  be  in  the 
water?  " 

"  The  city  of  Kitezh  stands  in  the  water." 

"  That — that's  quite  a  different  thing  1  In  Kitezh  dwelt 
only  upright  people." 

"  And  there  are  no  upright  towns  in  the  water?  " 

"No,"  said  Ignat,  and  added  after  a  pause:  "it  is  sea 
water — it  is  bitter,  and  cannot  be  drunk." 

"And  beyond  the  sea — are  there  more  countries?" 

"  Of  course;  don't  you  suppose  the  sea  must  have  limits? 
It  is  like  a  bowl." 

"And  are  there  more  towns  there?" 

"  Yes — but  what  of  that  ?  Only,  it's  no  longer  our  coun- 
try there,  but  Persia.  You  have  seen  the  Persians  at  the 
Fair,^  dealing  in  dried  peaches  and  apricots  and  pistachio 
nuts?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  them,"  replied  Foma,  and  became  pen- 
sive. 

One  day  he  asked  his  father: 

"  Is  there  much  more  land?  " 

'  The  Fair  of  Nighny  Novgorod,  -where  the  scene  is  chiefly  laid  we 
may  assume ;  although  the  name  of  the  town  is  never  mentioned  in  the 
story. — Translator. 

37 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"A  great  deal  more,  my  dear  boy!  If  you  were  to 
traverse  all  of  it  afoot, — ^why,  you  couldn't  walk  round  it 
all  in  ten  years."  Ignat  talked  a  long  time  to  his  son  about 
the  magnitude  of  the  earth,  and  wound  up  by  saying: 

"And  still  no  one  knows  how  much  there  is  of  it,  or 
where  it  ends." 

"  And  is  everything  alike  all  over  it?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  Towns  and  all  that—" 

"  Well,  of  course  there  are  towns  and  towns  .  .  Houses, 
streets, — and  everything  as  it  should  be." 

After  a  number  of  these  conversations  the  boy  began 
to  stare  less  frequently  and  intently  into  the  distance  with 
an  inquiring  gaze  in  his  black  eyes. 

The  crew  of  the  steamer  loved  him,  and  he  loved  all 
those  fine  fellows,  browned  with  sun  and  wind,  who  jested 
merrily  with  him.  They  rigged  up  for  him  divers  fishing 
apparatus,  made  boats  of  bark,  amused  him,  rowed  him 
about  on  the  river  during  their  halts,  while  Ignat  went  off 
to  the  town  on  business.  The  boy  often  heard  them  scold- 
ing about  his  father,  but  he  paid  no  particular  attention  to 
this,  and  never  repeated  to  his  father  what  he  had  heard 
about  him.  But  one  day,  in  Astrakhan,  when  the  steamer 
was  taking  on  wood  for  fuel,  Foma  heard  the  voice  of  Petro- 
vitch,  the  engineer: 

"  He  ordered  us  to  take  on  as  much  wood — phew;  he's 
a  ridiculous  man!  He  loads  the  steamer  to  the  very  deck 
and  then  storms  ...  *  You're  ruining  the  machinery,' 
he  says,  ^  you  pour  on  too  much  oil  altogether — '  " 

The  voice  of  the  gray  haired,  surly  pilot  replied: 

"  And  his  greed  is  boundless — fuel  is  cheap  here,  so  he's 
trying    .    .    .    He's  a  greedy  devil!  " 

"  Oh,  a  regular  curmudgeon!  " 

88 


Foma  Gordydeff 

This  word,  repeated  several  times  in  succession,  fixed  it- 
self in  Foma's  memory,  and  in  the  evening,  as  he  was  eat- 
ing supper  with  his  father,  he  suddenly  said  to  him: 

"Daddy!" 

"What?" 

"  Are  you  greedy?  " 

In  reply  to  his  father's  questions  he  repeated  to  him  the 
conversation  between  the  pilot  and  the  engineer.  Ignat's 
face  clouded  over,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  anger. 

"  So  that's  what  they  say! "  he  ejaculated,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Well,  never  you  mind — don't  listen  to  them. 
They're  not  fit  companions  for  you, — keep  away  from  them. 
You  are  their  master,  they  are  your  servants,  if  you  must 
know  it.  If  you  and  I  take  a  fancy,  we  can  fling  every 
man  Jack  of  them  ashore — they  come  cheap,  and  they  are 
as  plentiful  everywhere  as  dogs  with  undipped  tails.  Do 
you  understand?  They  may  say  a  lot  of  evil  about  me. 
But  what  they'll  say  later  on  is — that  I'm  completely  their 
master.  This  whole  business  arises  from  the  fact  that  I  am 
lucky  and  rich,  and  everyone  envies  rich  men.  The  fortu- 
nate man  is  regarded  as  everyone's  enemy." 

A  couple  of  days  later  a  new  pilot  and  a  new  engineer 
made  their  appearance  on  the  steamer. 

"  Where  is  Yakoff  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  I  have  paid  him  off — dismissed  him.'' 

"  What  for?  "  asked  Foma  wonderingly. 

"  For  that  same  affair." 

"AndPetrovitch?" 

"  Has  gone  the  same  road." 

Foma  was  delighted  that  his  father  was  able  so  promptly 

to  change  the  men  on  the  steamer.     He  smiled  at  his 

father,  and  going  to  the  lower  deck,  he  approached  a  sailor 

who  was  sitting  on  a  log,  and  ravelling  out  a  bit  of  rope 

to  make  a  swab.- 

39 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  We've  got  a  new  pilot/'  announced  Foma. 

"I  know  it.  I  hope  you're  well,  Foma  Ignatieviteh! 
How  did  you  sleep,  and  did  you  rest  well?  " 

"  And  a  new  engineer    .    ." 

"  Yes    .    .    Are  you  sorry  for  Petrovitch?  " 

"  No." 

"  No  ?    But  he  was  very  kind  to  you." 

"  But  why  did  he  abuse  my  daddy?  " 

"Oh?    Did  he  abuse  him?" 

"  Yes,  for  I  heard  him." 

"  Hum-m!    And  your  father  heard  him  also,  of  course?  " 

"  No,  I  told  him  about  it." 

"  You  .  .  Well! "  drawled  the  sailor,  stopped  short, 
and  fell  to  work  again. 

"And  my  daddy  says:  'You're  the  master  here  .  . 
you  can  discharge  them  all,  if  you  wish,'  he  says." 

"Just  so,"  remarked  the  sailor,  staring  gloomily  at  the 
boy,  who  was  so  vivaciously  bragging  to  him  about  his 
power.  From  that  day  forth  Foma  observed  that  the  crew 
assumed  a  different  attitude  towards  him,  somehow,  from 
the  one  they  had  held  previously:  some  became  more 
obliging  and  amiable,  others  would  not  speak  to  him,  or 
if  they  spoke  it  was  angrily  and  not  at  all  in  an  amusing 
way  as  it  had  been  before.  Foma  liked  to  watch  them 
scrub  the  deck;  with  their  trousers  rolled  up  to  their  knees 
— when  they  were  not  discarded  altogether — the  sailors, 
armed  with  swabs  and  brushes,  ran  skilfully  about  the  deck, 
flung  water  on  it  from  buckets,  splashed  each  other, 
laughed,  shouted,  tumbled  down — streams  of  water  flowed 
in  every  direction,  and  the  lively  uproar  of  the  men  mingled 
with  their  cheerful  plashing.  Before  this  the  boy  not 
only  had  never  been  in  the  sailors'  way  during  this  play- 
ful and  easy  work,  but  he  had  taken  an  active  share,  pour- 

40 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ing  water  over  them,  and  laughingly,  fleeing  hefore  their 
threats  to  duck  him.  But  after  Yakoff  and  Petrovitch's 
dismissal,  he  felt  that  he  was  now  in  everybody's  way,  no 
one  wished  to  play  with  him,  and  everyone  looked  un- 
graciously at  him.  Surprised  and  saddened,  he  left  the 
deck  and  went  up  to  the  pilot  house,  sat  down  there  and 
began  to  gaze  pensively  and  with  a  sense  of  affront,  at  the 
distant  blue  shore,  and  the  jagged  strip  of  forest  upon  it. 
Meanwhile,  down  on  the  deck  below,  the  water  splashed 
playfully  and  the  sailors  laughed  merrily.  He  wanted  very 
much  to  go  to  them,  but  something  kept  him  from  doing  so. 

"  Keep  away  from  them," — he  recalled  his  father's 
words:    "  You  are  their  master." 

Then  he  felt  hke  shouting  something  at  the  sailors — 
something  threatening  and  masterful,  such  as  his  father 
was  in  the  habit  of  shouting  at  them.  For  a  long  time 
he  meditated  on  what  it  should  be.  And  he  could  think 
of  nothing.  Two  days — three  days  more  passed,  and  by 
that  time  he  clearly  understood  that  the  crew  did  not  like 
him.  After  this  he  found  life  on  the  steamer  very  tire- 
some, and  more  and  more  frequently,  from  out  of  the  mot- 
ley-hued  mist  of  his  new  impressions,  stood  forth  before 
Foma  the  image  which  had  been  overshadowed  by  them, 
of  his  kind  and  loving  aunt  Anfisa,  with  her  stories, 
her  smiles  and  her  soft,  resonant  laughter,  that  breathed 
into  the  boy's  soul  a  cheering  warmth.  He  still  lived 
in  the  world  of  fairy-tales,  but  the  invisible  and  piti- 
less hand  of  reality  was  already  zealously  tearing  away  the 
beautiful  and  delicate  web  of  the  marvellous,  through  which 
the  boy  gazed  on  everything  around  him;  Foma's  eyes 
grew  more  keen:  a  conscious  desire  to  investigate  made  its 
appearance  in  them,  and  the  thirst  to  understand  began  to 
resound  in  the  questions  he  put  to  his  father — to  under- 

41 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

\jlstand^_what  threads  and  springs  regulate  the  actions  of 
1  men? 

One  day  this  scene  was  enacted  in  his  presence:  the 
sailors  were  carrying  wood  and  one  of  them,  young,  curly- 
headed  and  jolly  Efim,  as  he  traversed  the  deck  with  the 
pole-barrow,  said  in  a  loud  and  angry  tone: 

"  No,  this  is  downright  remorseless!  I  made  no  contract 
to  haul  wood.  A  sailor — that's  all  right,  your  work  is  plain 
enough, — but  haul  wood  to  boot — not  much!  It's  the  same 
as  flaying  me  of  the  skin  which  I  didn't  sell: — it's  out- 
rageous! A  nice  sort  of  master  he  is,  to  suck  the  very  mar- 
row out  of  folks! " 

The  boy  heard  this  grumbling  and  knew  that  it  referred 
to  his  father.  He  saw  too,  that  although  Efim  grumbled, 
he  had  more  wood  on  his  poles  than  the  others,  and  walked 
faster.  None  of  the  sailors  made  any  reply  to  Efim's 
grumbling,  and  even  the  one  who  was  his  partner  with 
the  poles  remained  silent,  merely  protesting  now  and  then 
at  the  zeal  with  which  Efim  loaded  the  wood  on  the  poles. 

"Enough!"  he  said  surlily:  "You're  not  loading  a 
horse! " 

"  And  do  you  hold  your  tongue.    You're  yoked,  so  don't 
y  kick  over  the  traces. — And  if  he  does  suck  the  blood  out  of 
you — still,  hold  your  tongue — ^what  can  you  say?  " 

All  at  once  Ignat  made  his  appearance,  no  one  knew 
whence,  stepped  up  to  the  sailor  and  taking  up  his  stand  in 
front  of  him,  inquired  gruffly: 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"  I'm  talking, — evidently, — as  best  I  can,"  replied  Efim 
stammering.  "  There  was  no  bargain  that  I  should  remain 
dumb.    .    ." 

"And  who  is  it  that's  going  to  suck  that  blood?"  in- 
quired Ignat,  stroking  his  beard. 

42 


Foma  Gordyeeff  __ 

The  sailor,  perceiving  that  he  had  put  his  foot  in  it,  and 
that  there  was  no  way  of  wriggling  out  of  the  scrape,  flung 
down  the  piece  of  wood,  wiped  his  hands  on  his  trousers 
and  looking  Ignat  straight  in  the  face,  said  boldly: 

"  And  ain't  I  right?    Aren't  you  going  to  suck  it    .    ." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you." 

Foma  saw  his  father  raise  his  hand, — a  sort  of  piercing 
shriek  rang  out,  and  the  sailor  fell  heavily  on  the  fire-wood. 
He  rose  to  his  feet  again  immediately,  and  went  on  with  his 
work  in  silence.  Blood  dripped  from  his  wounded  face 
upon  the  white  bark  of  the  birch  logs;  he  wiped  it  off  with 
the  sleeve  of  his  blouse,  looked  at  the  sleeve,  and  sighed, 
but  held  his  peace.  And  when  he  passed  Foma  with  the 
poles  laden  with  wood,  two  large,  turbid  tears  quivered  on 
his  face,  and  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and  the  boy  saw 
them. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  father,  he  was  thoughtful, 
and  scrutinized  Ignat  with  fear  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  frown?  "  asked  his  father  affectionately. 

"  Because " 

"  Perhaps  you  feel  ill?  " 

"  No." 

"  Good.  If's  there's  anything  the  matter  with  you,  speak 
out." 

"You  are  very  strong,"  said  the  boy  all  at  once,  in  a 
thoughtful  manner. 

"I?  Oh  fairly — God  has  not  been  unkind  to  me  on  that 
score." 

"  Wha-at  a  crack  you  hit  him  a  while  ago! "  exclaimed 
the  boy  softly,  hanging  his  head. 

Ignat  was  carrying  to  his  mouth  a  piece  of  bread  smear* 
with  caviar,  but  his  hand  paused,  stopped  short  by  his  sc 

43 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

exclamation;  he  looked  inquiringly  at  his  boy's  bowed  head, 
and  inquired: 

"Youmean— Efimka?" 

"Yes — you  brought  blood — and  he  wept  as  he  walked 
afterwards,"  went  on  the  boy  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Mm-m/'  growled  Ignat,  as  he  chewed  his  mouthful. 
"  Well — are  you  sorry  for  him?  " 

"  Sorry!  "  said  Foma,  with  tears  in  his  voice. 

"  Well — ^you  see — "  said  Ignat.  Then,  after  a  pause,  he 
poured  out  a  glass  of  brandy,  drank  it,  and  began  sternly 
and  impressively: 

"  There's  no  occasion  for  pitying  him.  He  was  bawling 
without  cause,  and  he  got  what  he  deserved.  I  know  him: 
he's  a  good  lad,  zealous,  robust,  and — no  fool.  But  it's  not 
his  place  to  pass  judgment:  I  can  do  that,  for  I'm  the 
master.  'Tis  no  easy  thing  to  be  the  master.  He'll  not 
die  of  that  whack,  but  he'll  be  the  wiser  for  it.  That's  the 
state  of  the  case.  Eh,  Foma!  You're  a  child — and  you 
do  not  understand  at  all — and  I  must  teach  you  how  to 
live.    Perhaps  I  have  not  much  longer  to  live  on  earth." 

Ignat  paused,  drank  some  more  liquor,  and  began  again 
argumentatively : 

"  You  do  well  to  pity  people.  Only,  you  must  use  judg- 
ment with  your  pity.  First  consider  the  man,  find  out  what 
he  is  like,  what  use  can  be  made  of  him.  And  if  you  see 
that  he  is  a  strong  and  capable  man,  help  him  if  you  like. 
But  if  a  man  is  weak,  not  inclined  to  work — spit  on  him 
and  go  your  way.  And  you  must  know  that  when  a  man 
complains  about  everything,  and  cries  out  and  groans, — he's 
not  worth  more  than  two  kopeks,  he's  not  worthy  of  pity, 
and  will  be  of  no  use  to  you  if  you  do  help  him!  .  .  .  and 
^e  others  will  only  get  soured  and  will  be  spoiled  by  your 

y  for  him.    When  you  lived  with  your  god-father,  you 

44 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

had  a  chance  to  see  all  sorts  of  riff-raff:  those  pilgrims, 
female  parasites,  unfortunate  folks  .  .  .  and  various  sorts  ^ 
of  rabble.  Forget  them — they  are  not  people,  and  they  are 
good  for  nothing  like  nut-shells  in  the  world.  They^re  a 
sort  of  fleas,  bugs  and  other  filth.  And  they  do  not  live  for 
God — they  have  no  God,  and  in  vain  do  they  call  upon  His 
name,  to  move  fools  to  pity,  that  they  may  fill  their  bellies 
through  people's  compassion.  They  live  for  their  bellies, 
and  they  do  not  know  how  to  do  anything  except  to  drink, 
and  gobble,  and  eat,  and  snore — and  all  you  get  from  them 
is  the  ruin  of  your  soul.  They'll  be  a  stumbling-block  for 
you,  that's  all.  And  a  good  man  among  them  is  like  a 
sound  apple  among  rotten  ones — he  is  likely  to  be  speedily 
spoiled,  and  no  one  will  be  the  gainer  by  it.  But  you  are 
very  young — you  cannot  understand  my  words.  .  .  Do 
you  aid  the  man  who  in  misfortune  is  a  stoic — perhaps  he 
will  not  ask  your  aid,  so  do  you  guess  his  need  of  it  your-  v^ 
self,  and  help  him  without  his  having  asked;  but  if  anyone 
is  proud,  and  is  likely  to  take  offense  at  your  aid — do  not 
let  him  know  that  you  are  helping  him.  That's  the  way  to 
behave  sensibly! 

"  For  instance,  take  an  affair  like  this.  Two  planks  lie 
in  the  mud, — one  rotten,  the  other  a  fine,  sound  block.  In 
such  a  case,  what  ought  you  to  do  ?  Of  what  use  is  a  rotten  ^ 
plank?  Let  it  alone,  leave  it  lying  in  the  mud,  you  can 
walk  on  it  to  keep  your  feet  from  getting  dirty.  But  if 
the  board  is  sound — pick  it  up,  and  lay  it  in  the  sun;  it 
will  be  of  use  to  some  one  else  if  not  to  you.  That's  the 
way,  my  little  son!  Hearken  to  me  and  remember.  Well, 
now — there's  no  occasion  for  pitying  Efimka — he's  a  prac- 
tical fellow,  he  understands  his  own  value, — you  won't 
knock  the  soul  out  of  him  with  one  box  on  the  ear.  Now 
I'm  going  to  keep  my  eyes  on  him  for  a  week,  and  then 

45 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

I'll  promote  him  to  be  steersman,  and  before  you  know  it, 
he'll  be  pilot — and  if  he's  made  captain  it  won't  daunt  him 
— he'll  make  a  clever  captain.  That's  the  way  men  grow 
up.  I've  been  through  that  school  myself,  my  dear  fellow, 
and  swallowed  a  good  lot  of  thumps  myself,  when  I  was 
of  his  age.  Life  is  not  an  affectionate  mother  to  us  all, 
my  dear  son,  but  she  is  our  stern  mistress." 
I  Ignat  talked  for  a  couple  of  hours  with  his  son,  told  him 
about  his  youth,  his  labors,  men  and  their  terrible  power 
and  weakness,  how  they  love  and  delight  to  pretend  that 
they  are  unfortunate,  in  order  that  they  may  live  at  the 
expense  of  others;  then  again  about  himself,  how  from  a 
common  laborer  he  had  risen  to  be  the  head  of  a  great 
business. 

The  boy  listened  to  him,  stared  at  him,  and  felt  that 
/  somehow,  his  father  was  coming  nearer  to  him  every  mo- 
ment. And  although  his  father's  narratives  contained  none 
of  the  elements  in  which  Anfisa's  stories  abounded,  on  the 
other  hand,  they  had  in  them  something  new, — something 
clearer  and  more  comprehensible  than  the  stories  had,  and 
no  less  interesting  than  they.  A  warm,  strong  feeling  be- 
gan to  beat  in  his  little  heart,  and  drew  him  to  his  father. 
Ignat  must  have  divined  this  sentiment  from  his  son's 
eyes:  he  rose  abruptly  from  his  seat,  seized  him  in  his 
arms,  and  pressed  him  close  to  his  breast.  And  Foma  threw 
his  arms  around  his  father's  neck,  and  pressing  his  cheek 
to  his  cheek,  remained  silent,  breathing  more  quickly  than 
before. 

"  My  dear  little  son,"  whispered  Ignat  softly.  "  My 
darling — my  joy — learn  well  while  I  am  alive — Ekh — life 
is  hard! " 

The  child's  heart  quivered  at  that  whisper,  set  his  teeth, 
and  hot  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes. 

46 


Foma  Gordydeff 

Up  to  that  day  Igndt  had  never  awakened  in  his  son  any 
particular  feelings.  The  boy  had  grown  used  to  him,  had 
surveyed  his  huge  form,  had  been  rather  afraid  of  him  and, 
at  the  same  time,  had  known  that  his  father  would  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  for  him  that  he  might  ask.  It  had 
sometimes  happened  that  Ignat  had  been  absent  from  home 
one  day,  two  days,  a  week,  or  the  whole  summer — Foma 
never  had  seemed  to  notice  his  absence,  engrossed  as  he  was 
in  love  for  his  aunt.  When  Ignat  made  his  appearance  the 
boy  rejoiced,  but  he  could  hardly  have  told  why — whether 
at  his  father's  coming,  or  at  the  playthings  which  the  latter 
brought.  But  now,  at  the  sight  of  Ignat,  Foma  ran  to 
meet  him,  grasped  his  hand,  gazed  laughingly  in  his  face, 
and  found  himself  very  dull  if  he  did  not  see  his  father 
for  two  or  three  hours.  His  father  had  become  interesting 
to  him,  and  by  rousing  his  curiosity,  had  simultaneously 
developed  love  and  respect  for  himself.  Every  time  that 
they  found  themselves  together  Foma  asked  his  father: 

"  Daddy!    Tell  me  about  yourself." 

The  steamer  was  on  its  way  up  the  Volga.  On  one  stifling 
July  night,  when  the  sky  was  covered  with  thick  black 
clouds,  and  everything  about  the  Volga  seemed  ominously 
quiet,  they  arrived  at  Kazan,  and  anchored  near  Uslon,  at 
the  tail  end  of  a  huge  caravan  of  vessels.  The  screech  of  the 
anchor-chains  and  the  shouts  of  the  crew  wakened  Foma; 
he  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  saw  far  away,  in  the 
gloom,  tiny  lights  gleaming  and  twinkling;  the  water  was 
black  and  thick  as  oil, — and  that  was  all  that  he  could  see. 
The  boy^s  heart  contracted  painfully,  and  he  began  to  listen 
attentively.  A  barely  audible,  mournful  song,  monotonous 
and  depressing  as  a  dirge,  floated  to  his  ear  from  some 
indefinite  spot;  the  watchmen  on  the  caravan  exchanged 
shouts;  the  steamer  hissed  angrily,  as  it  let  off  steam — and 

47 


^ 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

the  black  water  of  the  river  splashed  sadly  and  softly 
against  the  sides  of  the  vessels.  By  staring  intently  into 
the  darkness,  until  his  eyes  ached,  the  boy  was  able  to 
make  out  black  masses  and  small  lights,  dimly  flickering 
high  above  them.  He  knew  that  these  were  barges,  but 
this  knowledge  did  not  calm  him,  and  his  heart  beat  un- 
evenly, and  dark,  alarming  images  surged  up  in  his  im- 
agination. 

«  0—0—0." 

The  long-drawn  cry  rang  out  from  afar,  and  ended  in  a 
sort  of  moan.  Now  some  one  walked  across  the  deck,  to 
the  side  of  the  steamer. 

«  0—0—0." 

Again  it  rang  out,  but  it  was  nearer  now. 

"  Yafim! "  they  said  in  a  low  tone  on  deck:  "  Ya- 
fimka! " 

«  We-ell! " 

"The  devil!    Get  up!    Take  the  boat  hook." 

"  0 — 0 — 0—0  "  groaned  the  sound  close  at  hand,  and 
Foma,  with  a  shudder,  staggered  away  from  the  window. 

The  strange  sound  floated  nearer  and  nearer,  and  in- 
creased in  strength,  sobbing  and  melting  away  in  the  dense 
darkness.    And  on  deck  they  whispered  anxiously: 

"  Yafimka!    Do  get  up! — a  visitor  is  coming!  " 

"  Where?  "  rang  out  the  hurried  question — then  bare  feet 
shuffled  across  the  deck,  a  bustle  became  audible,  and  past 
the  boy's  face  two  boat  hooks  glided  from  above  and  almost 
noiselessly  plunged  into  the  thick  water. 

"  A  vi-i-si-tor! "  came  a  moaning  cry  near  at  hand,  and 
then  came  a  soft  but  very  strange  plashing  of  water. 

The  boy  quivered  with  terror  at  this  mournful  cry,  but 
could  not  tear  his  hands  from  the  window,  and  his  eyes 
from  the  water. 

48 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Light  the  lantern — we  can't  see  at  all." 

"  Immediately." 

Then  a  spot  of  troubled  light  fell  upon  the  water.  Foma 
saw  that  the  water  was  surging  gently,  and  a  ripple  was 
running  over  it,  as  though  it  were  in  pain  and  were  quiver- 
ing with  anguish. 

"  Look — look!  "  the  men  on  the  deck  whispered  in  terror. 

At  that  moment,  in  the  circle  of  light  upon  the  water 
there  appeared  a  huge,  dreadful  face,  with  grinning  white 
teeth.  It  floated  and  rocked  on  the  water,  its  teeth  were 
aimed  straight  at  Foma,  and  seemed  to  be  saying  to  him, 
with  a  smile: 

"  Eh,  my  lad,  my  lad,  'tis  co-old — farewell!  " 

The  boat  hooks  trembled,  rose  in  the  air,  and  then  de- 
scended into  the  water,  and  began  cautiously  to  push  into 
something. 

"  Guide  it — guide  it — look  out — it  will  get  into  the  pad- 
dle wheel." 

"  Give  it  a  shove  yourself." 

The  boat  hooks  slid  along  the  bulwark,  and  caught  hold 
of  the  thing  simultaneously,  with  a  sound  like  the  gnash- 
ing of  teeth.  Foma  could  not  close  his  eyes  as  he  stared 
at  them.  The  clatter  of  feet,  as  they  tramped  along  the 
deck,  overhead,  gradually  withdrew  to  the  bow.  And 
then  again  rang  out  that  moaning  sound,  like  a  funeral 
dirge: 

"  A  Vi-i-isitor! " 

"  Daddy!  "  shrieked  Foma  in  a  ringing  voice.    "  Daddy!  " 

His  father  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  ran  to  him. 

"  What  is  it?  What  are  they  doing  out  there?  "  screamed 
Foma. 

Ignat,  with  vast  strides  rushed  out  of  the  cabin,  yelling 
savagely.     He  soon  returned,  before  Foma,  tottering  and 

49 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

gazing  around  him  in  terror,  had  got  from  the  window  to 
his  father's  bed. 

"They  have  frightened  you — ^well,  never  mind!''  said 
Ignat,  taking  him  by  the  hand.    "  Get  into  bed  with  me." 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Foma  softly. 

"  Nothing,  my  son.  It  was  a  drowned  man.  A  man  has 
been  drowned,  and  was  floating — ^it  was  nothing.  Don't 
you  be  afraid,  he  hag  already  floated  away." 

"Why  did  they  shove  him?"  the  boy  persisted  in  his 
questions,  pressing  close  to  his  father,  and  covering  his  eyes 
to  keep  out  the  terror. 

"Why — because  it  had  to  be  done.  The  water  would 
drive  him  into  a  paddle-wheel — our  wheel,  for  example — 
and  tomorrow  the  police  would  spy  it  out, — and  there  would 
be  a  row,  and  questions,  and  they  would  detain  us  here.  So 
they  helped  him  to  journey  farther.  What  difference  does 
it  make  to  him?  He's  already  dead — it  doesn't  injure  him, 
it  doesn't  hurt  his  feelings, — ^but  he  would  have  made 
trouble  for  the  live  people.    Go  to  sleep,  my  son." 

"  And  so  he  is  floating  away?  " 

"Yes,  he  is  floating  away — they'll  fish  him  out  some- 
where, and  bury  him." 

"  And  won't  the  fishes  eat  him?  " 

"  Fishes  don't  eat  human  flesh — crabs  do.  They  are  fond 
of  it." 

Foma's  terror  melted  away  at  the  contact  of  his  father's 
warm  body,  but  the  dreadful  face  with  the  grinning  teeth 
still  rocked  on  the  water  before  his  vision. 

"  And  who  was  he?  " 

"  God  knows!  Tell  God  about  him:  say — '  Oh  Lord, 
give  rest  to  his  soul.' " 

"  Oh  Lord,  give  rest  to  his  soul,"  repeated  Fomd  in  a 
whisper. 

50 


Foma  Gordy^efif 

"  There  now — go  to  sleep,  have  no  fears.  He  is  far  away 
already.  He  is  floating  along — and  see  here;  be  careful 
not  to  go  too  close  to  the  side  of  the  boat — you  might  fall 
over — which  God  forbid! — into  the  water ^" 

"  And  did  he  fall  overboard?  " 

"  Of  course — perhaps  he  was  drunk — and  that  was  the 
end  of  him!  Perhaps  he  threw  himself  in.  There  are  men 
who — a  man  takes  and  throws  himself  into  the  water  and 
is  drowned.  Life  is  so  arranged,  my  dear  boy,  that  death 
sometimes  is  a  festival  for  a  man;  and  for  all  it  is  a 
blessing." 

"Daddy.    .    .    ." 

"  Go  to  sleep,  go  to  sleep,  my  dear  boy!  *' 


51 


ni 

On  the  first  day  of  his  school  life,  Foma,  stunned  by  the 
lively  and  healthy  uproar  of  teasing  pranks  and  turbulent 
childish  games,  picked  out  from  among  the  children  two 
who  immediately  appealed  to  him  as  more  interesting  than 
the  rest.  One  sat  in  front  of  him.  Foma,  as  he  darted 
furtive  glances,  perceived  a  broad  back,  a  thick  neck  sprin- 
kled with  freckles,  big  ears,  and  a  smoothly  clipped  nape, 
covered  with  bright  red  hair,  which  stood  up  in  a  brush. 

When  the  teacher,  a  man  with  a  bald  head  and  a  pen- 
dulous lower  lip,  called  out:  "  Smolin  Afrikan!  "  the  red- 
headed boy  rose  deliberately  to  his  feet,  walked  up  to  the 
teacher,  looked  him  calmly  in  the  eye,  and  having  learned 
what  was  required  of  him,  began  carefully  to  write  large, 
round  figures  with  chalk  on  the  blackboard. 

"Good  .  .  .  that  will  do!  "said  the  teacher.  "Ezhoff 
Nikolai.    .    .    continue! " 

One  of  Foma^s  neighbors  in  the  division, — a  restless  little 
boy, — sprang  from  his  seat  and  walked  along  past  the 
benches,  hitting  everything,  and  keeping  his  head  moving 
in  all  directions.  On  arriving  at  the  blackboard,  he  seized 
the  chalk,  and  elevating  himself  on  the  toes  of  his  boots, 
he  began  to  tap  the  board  with  the  chalk,  making  it  squeak 
and  creating  a  litter,  and  jotting  down  small,  illegible  marks. 
"  Be  more  quiet — '^  said  the  teacher,  wrinkling  up  his  yel- 
low face  with  its  weary  eyes,  as  though  in  pain.  But 
Ezhoff  said,  in  a  brisk,  ringing  voice: 

"  Now  we  know  that  the  first  pedlar  made  a  profit  of 
seventeen  kopeks.    .    .'' 

62 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  That  will  do!  .  .  .  Gordyeeff!  Tell  me,  how  would 
you  set  to  work  to  find  out  how  much  profit  the  second 
pedlar  made?  " 

Foma,  engrossed  as  he  was  in  ohserving  the  conduct  of 
the  boys — who  were  so  different  each  from  the  other — was 
surprised  by  the  unexpectedness  of  the  question,  and  made 
no  reply. 

"Don't  you  know?  .  .  .  Hm!  .  .  Explain  it  to  him, 
SmoHn." 

Smolin,  after  carefully  wiping  off  his  chalk-soiled  fingers 
with  a  rag,  laid  aside  the  rag,  and,  without  even  casting  a 
glance  at  Foma,  finished  the  problem,  and  began  again  to 
clean  his  hands,  while  Ezhoff,  smiling  and  skipping  as  he 
went,  betook  himself  to  his  place. 

"You  stupid!"  he  whispered,  seating  himself  beside 
Foma,  and  as  he  did  so  dealing  him  a  punch  in  the  side 
with  his  fist. — "  Why  can't  you  do  it  ?  How  much  profit 
was  there  altogether?  Thirty  kopeks  .  .  and  there  were 
two  pedlars  .  .  one  received  seventeen  kopeks, — well 
then,  and  how  much  did  the  other  get?  "  / 

"  I  know,"  replied  Foma  in  a  whisper,  feeling  much  con-  \ 
fused,  and  scrutinizing  the  face  of  Smolin,  who  was  re- 
turning sedately  to  his  place.  The  face  did  not  please  him. 
It  was  round,  spotted  with  freckles,  had  blue  eyes,  and  was 
overloaded  with  fat.  But  Ezhoff  pinched  his  leg  in  a  pain- 
ful way,  and  inquired: 

"  Whose  son  are  you — the  Crazy  Man's?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Indeed    ...    If  you  like,  I  will  always  prompt  you?  " 

"  I  do  like." 

"  And  what  will  you  give  me  for  doing  it?  " 

Foma  reflected,  and  then  asked: 

"  But  do  you  know  yourself?  " 

53 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"I?    I'm  the  head  pupil — ^you'll  see.    .    ." 

"Hey,  you  there!  Ezhoff — ^you  are  communicating 
again?"  shouted  the  teacher,  in  a  feebly-offended  tone. 

Ezhoff  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  said  alertly: 

"  'Tisn't  me,  Ivan  Andreitch — it's  Gordyeeff.    .    .'^ 

"They  were  both  whispering,"  said  Smolin,  imper- 
turbably. 

The  teacher  chided  them  both,  dolefully  contracting  his 
face,  and  wagging  his  thick  lip  in  an  absurd  way;  but  the 
reproof  did  not  prevent  Ezhoff  from  beginning  to  whisper 
again  immediately: 

"All  right,  Smolin!  I'll  give  it  to  you  for  telling 
tales.     .    ." 

"  Why  do  you  come  down  on  the  new  fellow?  "  inquired 
Smolin  softly,  without  turning  his  head. 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  hissed  Ezhoff. 

Foma  held  his  peace,  casting  sidelong  glances  at  his 
vivacious  neighbor,  who  simultaneously  pleased  him,  and 
inspired  him  with  a  desire  to  get  as  far  away  from  him 
as  possible.  During  recess,  he  learned  from  Ezhoff  that 
Smolin  was  also  rich,  the  son  of  a  leather  manufacturer, 
and  that  Ezhoff  himself  was  the  son  of  the  janitor  of  the 
court  of  exchequer,  and  very  poor.  The  latter  fact  was 
plainly  apparent,  both  from  the  garb  of  the  lively  lad,  made 
of  gray  fustian,  adorned  with  patches  on  the  knees  and 
elbows,  from  his  pale,  hungry  face,  from  his  whole  angular, 
bony  little  figure.  This  boy  talked  in  a  metallic  alto  voice, 
illustrating  his  speech  with  grimaces  and  gestures,  and  often 
made  use  of  words  whose  meaning  was  known  to  himself 
alone. 

"  You  and  I  will  be  chums,"  he  announced  to  Foma. 

"  Why  did  you  tell  on  me  to  the  teacher  a  while  ago?  " 
Gordyeeff  reminded  him,  with  a  suspicious  frown. 

54 


Foma  Gordy^efF 

"There!  "What's  that  to  you?  You  are  a  new  fellow, 
and  rich — the  teacher  doesn't  punish  the  rich  boys. — But 
I'm  a  poor  hanger-on,  he  doesn't  like  me,  because  I'm  im- 
pudent to  him,  and  have  never  brought  him  a  present.  If 
I  had  neglected  my  studies,  he  would  have  turned  me  out 
long  ago.  Do  you  know — I'm  going  to  the  gymnasium 
after  I'm  through  here  .  .  I  shall  finish  this  second 
class,  and  then  I  shall  go  away  .  .  A  student  is  already 
preparing  me  for  the  second  class  there,  also  .  .  There  I 
shall  study  hard — Oh,  won't  I  just! — How  many  horses 
have  you?  " 

"  Three  .  .  .  Why  are  you  going  to  study  so  hard?  " 
asked  Foma. 

"  Because  I  am  poor  .  .  .  Poor  fellows  have  to  study 
a  lot,  so  that  they,  also,  may  become  rich — ^become  doctors, 
or  officials,  or  officers  in  the  army  .  .  .  I'm  going  to 
be  a  jingler  too — a  sword  on  my  hip,  spurs  on  my  feet — 
clank,  clank!    And  what  are  you  going  to  be?  " 

"I — I  don't  know,"  said  Foma  thoughtfully,  staring 
at  his  comrade. 

"  'Tisn't  necessary  for  you  to  be  anything. — Are  you  fond 
of  pigeons  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  a  good-for-nothing  you  are!  Oo — oo!  Eh — eh!" 
And  Ezhoff  mimicked  Foma's  deliberate  speech.  "  How 
many  pigeons  have  you?  " 

"  I  haven't  any." 

"  The  idea !  He's  rich,  and  he  hasn't  set  up  any  pigeons 
.  .  I  have  three,  one  pouter,  and  a  spotted  female  pigeon, 
and  a  tumbler.  If  my  father  were  rich,  I'd  have  a  hun- 
dred pigeons,  and  I'd  do  nothing  but  fly  them  all  day  long. 
Smolin  has  pigeons  also — fine  ones!  Fourteen — he  gave 
me  the  tumbler.    Only,  he's  greedy,  all  the  same!    .    .    . 

65 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

All  rich  people  are  greedy  .  .  .  and  are  you  greedy 
too?'' 

"  I    .    .    I  don't  know,"  said  Foma  hesitatingly. 

"  You  come  to  Smolin's,  and  we'll  fly  them,  all  three  of 
us  together." 

"  All  right,  if  I'm  allowed." 

"  Doesn't  your  father  love  you?  " 

"  Yes,  he  loves  me." 

"  Well,  then  he'll  let  you  come  .  .  .  Only,  don't  tell 
that  I'm  going  too — for  they  really  won't  let  you  come  with 
me.    You  just  say — let  me  go  to  Smolin's.    Smolin!  " 

The  fat  boy  approached,  and  EzhoS  greeted  him,  shaking 
his  head  reproachfully: 

"  Oh  you  red-headed  tell-tale!  It  doesn't  pay  to  be 
friends  with  you — you  blockhead!  " 

"Why  do  you  use  bad  language?"  quietly  inquired 
Smolin,  looking  Foma  over  with  staring  eyes. 

"I'm  not  using  bad  language,  I'm  telling  the  truth," 
explained  Ezhoff,  quivering  all  over  with  animation. — 
"  See  here!  Even  if  you  are  a  sour  tempered  fellow,  it's  all 
right.  On  Sunday,  after  church  service,  I'll  come  to  you 
with  him." 

"  Do,"  answered  Saaglin,  with  a  nod. 

"  We  will  .  .  .  The  bell  wiUrxing  soon,  I'll  run  and 
sell  my  canary,"  pulling  oui^f  his  trousers'  pocket  i  a  paper 
packet,  in  which  some  Hye  creature  was  struggling^  And 
he  vanished  froih.  thg^  school-yard  like  quicksilver  from 
the  hand. 


u 


What  a  fellow  he  is!  "  said  Foma,  impressed  by  Ezhoff 'a 
liveliness,  with  an  inquiring  glance  at  SmoHn. 

"  He's  always  like  that    .    .    He's  very  clever,"  explained 
the  red-headed  lad. 

"And  jolly,"  added  Foma. 

56 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"And  jolly,"  assented  Smolin.  Then  they  fell  silent, 
looking  each  other  over. 

"  Will  you  come  to  my  house  with  him?  "  asked  the  red- 
headed boy. 

"  Yes." 

"Do    .    .    It  is  nice  at  my  house." 

To  this  Foma  made  no  reply.    Then  Smolin  asked  him: 

"  Have  you  many  comrades?  " 

"  I  have  none  at  all." 

"Neither  did  I  have  any  until  I  went  to  school  .  . 
only  my  cousins.    Now  you'll  have  two  chums,  all  at  once." 

"  Yes,"  said  Foma. 

"Are  you  glad?" 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  cheerful,  when  you  have  a  great  many  comrades. 
And  you  learn  more  easily — they  prompt  you." 

"  Do  you  study  well  ?  " 

"  Yes.— I  do  everything  well,"  said  Smolin  composedly. 

The  bell  jingled,  as  though  it  were  frightened,  and  were 
scurrying  off  somewhere  in  haste.    .    . 

As  Foma  sat  in  school,  he  felt  more  at  his  ease,  and  began 
to  compare  his  chums  with  the  other  boys.  He  speedily 
discovered  that  they  were  the  very  best  in  the  school  and 
the  first  to  attract  one's  attention,  as  sharply  as  the  two 
figures  5  and  7,  which  were  not  yet  erased  from  the  class- 
room blackboard.  And  Foma  was  pleased  that  his  comrades 
were  better  than  all  the  other  boys. 

All  three  of  them  left  the  school-house  together,  but 
Ezhoff  soon  turned  aside  into  a  narrow  alley,  while  Smolin 
accompanied  Foma  all  the  way  home,  and,  as  he  bade  him 
farewell,  said: 

"  Here,  you,  see — we  can  walk  together  also." 

Foma  had  a  triumphant  welcome  home:   his  father  gave 

57 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

the  lad  a  heavy  silver  spoon,  with  an  elaborate  monogram, 
and  his  aunt,  a  scarf  of  her  own  knitting.  They  were 
waiting  for  dinner  for  him,  his  favorite  viands  had  been 
prepared,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  changed  his  clothes,  they 
eeated  themselves  at  the  table  and  began  to  question  him: 

"Well,  and  how  did  you  like  the  school?"  said  Ignat, 
gazing  affectionately  at  the  rosy,  animated  face  of  his  son. 

"  I  didn't  mind  it    ...    It  was  fine! ''  replied  Foma. 

"  My  darling!  "  sighed  his  aunt,  with  emotion. — "  See 
here,  don't  you  give  way  to  your  comrades.  If  they  offend 
you  in  any  way,  go  straight  to  the  teacher,  and  tell  him 
about  them." 

"  Now  listen  to  her!  "  laughed  Ignat.  "  Don't  you  ever 
do  that!  Try  to  deal  with  every  offender  yourself,  chastise 
him  with  your  own  fists,  not  through  some  one  else's  .  . 
Are  the  children  nice?  " 

"Two  are,"  said  Foma,  smiling,  as  he  recalled  Ezhoff. 
"  One  is  so  daring — he's  a  terror!  " 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  The  janitor's  son.'* 

"  Hm-m,  daring,  you  say?  " 

"  Terribly! " 

"  Well,  God  be  with  him!    And  the  other? '' 

"  The  other  is  red-headed    .    .    Smohn." 

"Ah!  Evidently,  Mitry  Ivanitch's  son.  Hang  on  to 
him,  he's  good  company  .  .  Mitry  is  a  clever  man;  if 
his  son  is  like  him,  'twould  be  a  good  thing.  As  for  the 
other  .  .  .  Now,  see  here,  Foma:  you  invite  them  to 
be  your  guests  here  on  Sunday.  I'll  buy  presents,  and  you 
ehall  stand  treat  to  them.    We'll  see  what  they  are  like." 

"  Smolin  has  invited  me  to  his  house  on  Sunday,"  an- 
nounced Foma,  with  an  inquiring  glance  at  his  father. 

"  You  don't  say  so! — Well,  go!  That's  all  right,  go.  Look 

58 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

about  and  see  what  people  are  like  in  the  world.  You 
can't  live  alone,  without  friendship  .  .  .  Now,  I  have 
been  friends  with  your  god-father  these  twenty  years,  and 
have  profited  greatly  by  his  good  sense.  So  do  you  try  to 
make  friends  with  those  who  are  better,  cleverer  than  your- 
self. You'll  get  rubbed  up,  in  the  company  of  a  good 
man  .  .  .  just  as  a  copper  kopek  does  against  silver,  and 
then  you  will  pass  for  a  twenty-kopek  piece  yourself." 

And,  laughing  at  his  own  comparison,  Ignat  added,  seri- 
ously: 

"  I'm  joking.    Try  not  to  be  artificial,  but  genuine    .    .    . 
and  have  some  mind  of  your  own,  even  if  it  isn't  much.  ^ 
"Well,  and  did  they  set  you  many  lessons?  " 

"  Yes! "  sighed  the  boy,  and  a  heavy  sigh  from  his  aunt 
resounded  like  an  echo. 

"  Well  .  .  .  study.  Don't  be  worse  at  learning  than 
all  the  rest.  I'll  tell  you  what — ^in  school — even  if  there 
were  twenty-five  classes — they  teach  nothing  except  how 
to  read,  write  and  cipher.  You  can  learn  divers  nonsense 
in  addition, — which  God  forbid!  I'll  flog  you,  if  .  .  . 
If  you  smoke  tobacco,  I'll  cut  off  your  lips." 

"  Remember  God,  Fomushka,"  said  his  aunt. — **  See  to 
it,  that  you  do  not  forget  our  Lord." 

"  That's  true!  Respect  God  and  your  parents.  But  what 
I  want  to  say  is,  that  the  school-books  are  a  small  matter. 
You  need  them,  as  a  carpenter  needs  an  axe  and  a  plane  .  . 
they  are  implements  .  .  but  they  don't  teach  in  school 
how  the  implements  are  to  be  used  in  one's  business.  Do 
you  understand?  Let's  put  it  this  way:  an  axe  is  placed 
in  the  hand  of  the  carpenter,  and  with  it  he  must  square 
off  the  plank.  The  hands  and  the  axe  are  not  enough  by 
themselves,  in  addition,  he  must  know  how  to  strike  the 
wood,  and  not  his  foot.    Reading  and  writing  are  placed 

59 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

in  your  hand,  and  with  them  you  must  build  your  life.  . 
So  it  appears,  that  books  alone  do  not  suffice  for  such  an 
undertaking:  you  must  also  know  how  to  make  use  of  them 
.  .  .  And  that  knowledge  is  precisely  the  thing  which 
will  be  more  clever  than  all  the  books,  and  in  the  books  not 
a  word  is  written  concerning  it.  That  is  something  which 
you  must  learn  from  life  itself,  Foma.  A  book  is  a  dead 
thing:  grasp  it  as  you  will,  tear  it,  break  it — ^it  will  not 
shriek. — But  life! — as  soon  as  you  walk  unsteadily,  or  take 
up  an  irregular  place  in  it, — it  will  yell  at  you  with  a  thou- 
/  Band  voices,  and  will  smite  you,  to  boot,  and  knock  you 
off  your  feet." 

Foma,  with  his  elbows  propped  on  the  table,  listened  in 
silence  to  his  father,  and  under  the  influence  of  the  power- 
ful tones  of  his  voice,  pictured  to  himself,  now  a  carpenter 
engaged  in  hewing  a  beam,  now  himself:  cautiously,  with 
arms  outstretched  before  him,  he  seemed  to  be  creeping 
over  unstable  ground  toward  something  huge  and  living, 
and  to  be  desirous  of  seizing  hold  of  this  terrible  some- 
thing. 

"  A  man  must  take  care  of  himself,  for  the  sake  of  his 
affairs,  and  must  know  the  road  to  his  business  thoroughly 
well  .  .  A  man,  my  dear  fellow,  is  just  like  the  pilot 
on  a  ship  .  .  In  youth  and  in  flood-tide,  go  straight 
ahead!  But  you  must  recognize  when  the  time  has  come 
to  take  to  forced  measures.  The  water  has  receded, — then 
look  out;  there  is  a  shoal  here,  a  snag  there,  in  another 
place  a  rock;  all  these  things  must  be  calculated  and 
avoided,  if  one  is  to  reach  the  wharf  safely." 

"  I'll  reach  it  safely! "  said  the  boy,  gazing  confidently 
and  proudly  at  his  father. 

"Will  you?  You  speak  bravely!  "  laughed  Ignat.  And 
his  aunt  also  laughed  amiably. 

60  I 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Beginning  with  his  trip  on  the  Volga  with  his  father, 
Foma  became  more  and  more  daring,  and  talkative  at  home, 
with  his  father,  his  aunt,  and  the  Mayakins.  But  on  the 
street,  or  in  any  place  which  was  new  to  him,  or  with  stran- 
gers, he  always  glowered  and  gazed  about  him  in  a  suspicious 
and  distrustful  manner,  as  though  he  were  everywhere  con- 
scious of  something  which  was  hostile  to  him,  concealed 
from  him,  and  was  spying  upon  him. 

Sometimes,  at  night,  he  suddenly  awoke,  and  listened  to 
the  silence  around  him,  intently  staring  at  the  gloom  with 
wide-open  eyes.  And  there,  before  him,  his  father's  tales 
were  transformed  into  images  and  pictures.  Imperceptibly 
to  himself,  he  mixed  them  up  with  his  aunt's  fairy-tales, 
and  created  for  himself  a  chaos  of  facts,  wherein  the  vivid 
hues  of  fancy  were  capriciously  interwoven  with  the  stern 
colors  of  reality.  The  result  was  something  vast,  incom- 
prehensible; the  boy  closed  his  eyes,  and  banished  it  all 
from  him,  and  endeavored  to  bring  to  a  halt  this  play  of 
imagination  which  terrified  him.  But  in  vain  did  he  try 
to  sleep,  for  the  room  became  more  and  more  densely 
peopled  with  dark  figures.  Then  he  softly  aroused  his 
aunt: 

"  Aunty    .    .    .    say,  Aunty." 

"  What  is  it?    Christ  be  with  you!  " 

"  I'll  come  to  you,"  whispered  Foma. 

"  Why?    Go  to  sleep,  my  darling — go  to  sleep." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  the  boy  confessed. 

"Recite  softly:  'Let  God  arise,'  and  your  fear  will  dis- 
appear." 

Foma  lay  with  closed  eyes,  and  recited  the  prayer.  The 
nocturnal  silence  appeared  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  limit- 
less expanse  of  dark  water,  which  was  absolutely  motion- 
less,— it  had  spread  everywhere  and  congealed,  there  was 

61 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"upon  it  no  ripple,  neither  shadow  of  movement,  nor  was 
there  anything  in  it,  although  it  was  bottomlessly  deep.  It 
was  very  dreadful  for  anyone  to  look  down  from  some 
height,  in  the  gloom,  upon  this  dead  water  .  .  But  now 
the  sound  of  the  night-watchman's  mallet  rings  out,  and 
the  child  perceives  that  the  surface  of  the  water  is  quivering, 
and  round,  brilliant  little  balls  are  rolling  over  it,  covering  it 
with  ripples  .  .  The  stroke  of  the  bell  in  the  belfry  makes 
the  whole  expanse  of  water  surge  with  a  mighty  swell,  and 
for  a  long  time  it  continues  to  rock  from  the  blow.  And  the 
large,  bright  spot  vacillates  also,  illumines  it,  spreads  out 
from  its  centre  to  some  place  in  the  dark  distance,  then 
grows  pale  and  is  extinguished  .  .  Again  melancholy, 
dead  calm  reigns  in  this  gloomy  waste. 

"Aunty,"  whispers  Foma,  imploringly. 

"Well,  sonny?'' 

"  I'm  coming  to  you." 

"  Yes,  come,  come  my  own  dear  one." 

Then  he  shifts  into  his  aunt's  bed,  snuggles  up  to  her, 
and  entreats: 

"  Tell  me  a  story." 

"  At  night?  "  protests  his  aunt  sleepily. 

"Ple-eease! " 

He  does  not  have  to  implore  her  long.  Yawning,  in  a 
voice  that  is  hoarse  with  sleep,  the  old  woman,  with  tight- 
shut  eyes,  says  deliberately: 

.^^^  "  Well  then,  sir,  in  a  certain  kingdom,  in  a  certain  realm, 
tnere  lived  and  dwelt  a  man  and  his  wife,  and  they  were 
poor,  very  poor!  They  were  such  unfortunates  that  they 
had  not  even  anything  to  eat.  So  they  wandered  about  the 
world,  and  here  and  there  people  gave  them  a  stale,  dis- 
carded crust, — wherewith  their  hunger  was  appeased  for 
the  day.    And  lo!  a  child  was  born  to  them, — and  it  must 

62 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

be  baptized;  but,  because  they  were  poor,  and  had  nothing 
wherewith  to  regale  the  god-parents  and  guests,  no  one  came 
to  them  to  stand  sponsor  for  the  child!  They  did  this,  and 
did  that — there  was  no  one!  Then  they  prayed  to  the  Lord: 
'Oh  Lord!    Oh  Lord!  "' 

This  terrible  tale  of  God's  god-child  is  familiar  to  Foma; 
many  a  time  has  he  heard  it,  and  he  depicts  to  himself,  in 
advance,  this  god-child:  there  he  is,  riding  on  a  white  horse 
to  his  god-father  and  mother,  he  is  riding  in  the  darkness, 
through  the  desert,  and  he  beholds  therein  all  the  intoler- 
able torments  to  which  sinners  are  condemned.  And  he 
hears  their  subdued  groans,  and  their  entreaties: 

"  0 — 0 — 0 !  Hey  there,  thou  man !  Inquire  of  the  Lord 
if  we  have  still  long  torment  to  undergo  ?  " 

Then  it  seems  to  the  boy  as  though  he,  himself,  is  riding 
through  the  night  on  the  white  horse,  and  the  groans  and 
prayers  are  addressed  to  him.  His  heart  contracts  with  some 
longing  or  other,  which  he  does  not  understand;  the  chilly 
gloom  oppresses  his  breast,  and  tears  start  to  his  eyes,  which 
he  has  shut  tightly,  and  is  afraid  to  open. 

He  moves  about  restlessly  in  the  bed. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  my  dear  child,  Christ  be  with  thee! — " 
says  the  old  woman,  interrupting  her  tale  of  how  these 
people  were  tormented  for  their  sins. 

But  after  such  a  night  as  this,  Foma  arose  in  the  morn- 
ing, cheerful  and  alert,  washed  himself  hurriedly,  drank 
tea  in  haste,  and  ran  off  to  school,  with  a  supply  of  patties, 
both  sweetened,  and  those  made  with  milk  and  butter, 
which  the  ever-hungry  little  Ezhoff,  who  greedily  fed 
upon  the  bounty  of  his  wealthy  comrade,  was  awaiting 
there. 

"Have  you  fetched  anything  to  devour?"  he  greeted 
Foma,  wagging  about  his  sharp  nose. — "  Hand  it  over,  for 

63 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

I  left  home  without  having  eaten  anything.  I  overslept, 
plague  take  it — I  studied  until  two  o'clock  this  morning. — 
Have  you  done  your  sums  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Oh  you  gallinipper!  Well,  I'll  show  you  about  them 
presently." 

Driving  his  small,  sharp  teeth  into  the  patty,  he  began 
to  purr  like  a  kitten,  beating  time  with  his  left  foot,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  he  solved  a  problem,  tossing  brief  phrases 
at  Foma: 

"Do  you  see?  In  one  hour,  eight  bucketfuls  leaked  out 
.  .  and  how  many  hours  did  the  leak  last — six?  Eh,  what 
good  things  you  do  have  to  eat! — So,  you  must  multiply 
six  by  eight.  Do  you  like  patties  with  green  onions?  I'm 
awfully  fond  of  them!  Well  then,  from  the  first  faucet,  in 
six  hours,  fort3^-eight  bucketfuls  leaked  out,  and  in  all, 
ninety  were  poured  into  the  vat  ...  do  you  understand 
the  rest?" 

Foma  liked  Ezhoff  better  than  he  did  Smohn,  but  he 
was  on  more  friendly  terms  with  Smolin.  He  was  aston- 
ished at  the  capacity  and  the  vivaciousness  of  the  little 
peasant,  he  perceived  that  Ezhoff  was  cleverer  and  better 
than  himself,  he  envied  him  and  yet  cherished  a  sense  of 
injury  against  him  on  this  account,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
he  pitied  him,  with  the  condescending  pity  of  the  well-fed 
for  the  hungry.  It  is  possible,  that  precisely  this  pity  pre- 
vented his  gij'ing  the  preference  to  the  lively  lad  over  the 
tiresome,  red-headed  Smolin.  Ezhoff,  who  was  fond  of 
laughing  at  his  well-fed  comrades,  often  said  to  them: 

"  Eh,  you  little  patty-boxes!  '^ 

His  jeers  enraged  Foma,  and  one  day,  cut  to  the  heart, 
he  said,  scornfully  and  maliciously: 

"  You're  a  beggar — a  pauper!  " 

64 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Ezhoff's  yellow  face  became  covered  with  spots,  and  he 
slowly  answered: 

"  All  right — go  ahead!  I  won't  prompt  you  any  more — 
and  you'll  go  to  the  foot  of  the  class  as  the  dunce!  " 

And  for  three  days  they  did  not  speak  one  with  the 
other,  to  the  mortification  of  the  school-master,  who,  on 
those  days  was  forced  to  place  marks  of  one  and  two  against 
the  son  of  Ignat  Matvyeevitch,  so  much  respected  by 
all. 

Ezhoff  knew  everything:  he  narrated  at  school,  that  the 
procurator's  chamber-maid  had  had  a  baby,  and  that  on 
this  account  the  procurator's  wife  had  poured  hot  coffee 
on  her  husband;  he  could  tell  when  and  where  the  best 
perch-fishing  was  to  be  found;  he  knew  how  to  make  snares 
and  cages  for  birds;  he  communicated  the 'details  as  to  why 
and  how  a  soldier  had  hanged  himself  in  the  barracks,  in 
the  attic,  from  the  parents  of  which  pupil  the  teacher  had 
received  a  gift  that  day,  and  just  what  the  gift  was. 

Smolin's  sphere  of  knowledge  and  interests  was  confined 
to  the  life  of  the  merchant  class,  and  the  red-headed  lad  was 
particularly  fond  of  making  definite  statements  as  to  who 
were  the  richest  members  of  that  class,  estimating  and  cal- 
culating their  houses,  ships  and  horses.  All  these  things 
he  knew  incomparably  well,  and  he  discussed  them  with 
enthusiasm. 

Toward  Ezhoff  he  bore  himself  with  the  same  conde- 
scending pity  as  did  Foma,  but  in  a  more  friendly,  equable 
manner  than  the  latter.  Every  time  that  Gordyeeff  quar- 
relled with  Ezhoff,  he  strove  to  reconcile  them,  and,  on  one 
occasion,  as  they  were  on  their  way  home  from  school,  he 
said  to  Foma: 

"Why  are  you  and  Ezhoff  continually  abusing  each 
other?" 

65 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"Why  is  he  so  conceited  then?"  retorted  Foma  angrily. 

"  He's  conceited  because  you  are  not  a  good  scholar,  and 
he  is  always  helping  you  .  .  .  He's  clever!  And  as  for 
his  being  poor — is  he  to  blame  for  that?  He  can  learn 
anything  he  has  a  mind  to,  and  will  be  rich  himself  some 
day." 

"He's  a  regular  mosquito,"  said  Foma  scornfully:  "he 
sings,  and  sings,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  bites." 

But  in  the  life  of  these  small  boys,  there  was  a  certain 
element  which  united  them  all,  there  were  hours  during 
which  they  lost  consciousness  of  the  differences  of  character 
and  social  position.  On  Sunday,  they  all  three  assembled 
at  Smolin's  and,  climbing  upon  the  roof  of  the  wing,  where 
a  spacious  dovecote  had  been  constructed,  they  let  out  the 
pigeons. 

The  handsome,  well-fed  birds,  fluttering  their  snow- 
white  wings,  flew  from  the  dovecote,  one  after  the  other, 
and  alighted  in  a  row  on  the  ridge-pole  where,  lighted  up 
by  the  sun  they  cooed  and  strutted  before  the  boys. 

"  Start  them  up! "  entreated  Ezhoff,  quivering  with  im- 
patience. 

Smolin  brandished  in  the  air  a  long  pole,  with  a  tuft  of 
shredded  hnden  bast  on  the  end,  and  whistled. 

The  frightened  pigeons  darted  into  the  air,  filling  it  with 
the  rustling  sound  of  wings.  Then  they  would  begin  to  soar 
smoothly  upward,  describing  wide  circles,  as  they  rose  into 
the  deep  blue  sky,  and  floated,  higher  and  higher,  their 
plumage  gleaming  like  silver  and  snow.  Some  of  them 
seek  to  reach  the  dome  of  heaven  with  the  easy  flight  of  the 
falcon,  spreading  their  wings  broadly,  and,  to  all  appear- 
ances, not  moving;  the  others  play,  turn  somersaults  in  the 
air,  fall  downward  like  a  snow-ball,  and  again  dart  aloft 
like  an  arrow.    Now  the  whole  flock  seems  to  stand  motion- 

6G 


Fom^  Gordy^eff 

less  in  the  vast  expanse  of  the  sky,  and  growing  smaller  and 
smaller,  at  last  vanishes  into  it. 

With  their  heads  thrown  back,  the  boys  silently  admire 
the  birds,  never  taking  their  eyes  from  them, — weary  eyes, 
beaming  with  quiet  delight  which  is  akin  to  envy  of  these 
winged  creatures,  soaring  so  freely  from  the  earth  into  the 
pure,  placid  realm,  filled  with  the  radiance  of  the  sun.  The 
tiny  group  of  specks,  barely  visible,  dotted  against  the  azure 
of  the  sky,  draws  the  imagination  of  the  children  along  with 
it,  and  Ezhoff  expresses  the  feeling  common  to  them  all, 
when  he  says  softly,  and  thoughtfully: 

"  We  ought  to  be  able  to  fly  like  that  too,  fellows!  ^' 

And  Foma,  knowing  that  the  soul  of  man  frequently 
assumes  the  form  of  a  dove  as  it  flies  heavenward,  felt 
within  his  breast  a  surge  of  some  desire  both  powerful  and 
burning. 

United  in  their  rapture,  silently  and  attentively  watch- 
ing for  the  return  from  the  depths  of  heaven  of  their  birds, 
the  boys,  nestling  close  to  each  other,  have  flown  far  away 
— as  far  as  their  pigeons  from  the  earth — from  the  influence 
of  life;  at  such  moments  they  are  simply  children,  they  / 
can  neither  envy  nor  get  angry;  estranged  from  every- 
thing, they  are  near  to  each  other;  without  words,  merely 
by  the  gleam  in  their  eyes,  they  comprehend  their  senti- 
ment, and  feel  as  happy  as  the  birds  in  the  sky. 

But  now  the  pigeons  have  alighted  upon  the  roof  once 
more,  weary  with  their  flight,  and  are  driven  back  into  the 
dovecote. 

"  Say,  fellows!  Let's  go  after  the  apples! "  suggests 
Ezhoff,  the  leader  in  all  games  and  expeditions. 

His  cry  expels  from  the  childish  souls  the  peaceful  mood 
inspired  by  the  pigeons,  and  with  the  cautious  gait  of  ban- 
dits, and  with  robber-like  sensitiveness  to  every  sound,  they 

67 


Foma  Gordy^efif 

creep  through  the  back  gate  into  the  neighboring  garden. 
The  fear  of  being  caught  is  tempered  down  to  equilibrium 
by  the  hope  of  being  able  to  steal  with  impunity.  Theft  is 
toil,  and  dangerous  toil,  at  that, — ^but  everything  earned  by 
one's  own  toil  is  so  sweet!  .  .  And  the  greater  the  amount 
of  effort  required  to  obtain  it,  the  sweeter  it  is!  The  small 
boys  crawl  cautiously  over  the  garden  fence,  and  bending 
double,  creep  to  the  apple-trees,  casting  keen  and  timorous 
glances  from  side  to  side.  Their  hearts  quiver  and  stop 
beating  at  every  rustle.  With  equal  force  they  dread  being 
caught,  and  being  recognized  if  perceived;  but  if  they  are 
merely  observed  and  shouted  at,  they  will  be  content.  At 
a  shout,  they  fly  apart  and  vanish,  and  then,  coming  to- 
gether again,  their  eyes  blazing  with  rapture  and  audacity, 
they  laughingly  describe  to  each  other  how  they  felt  when 
they  heard  the  shout  and  the  hue  and  cry  after  them,  and 
what  happened  to  them  when  they  ran  through  the  garden 
as  swiftly  as  though  the  ground  were  burning  hot  under 
their  feet. 

Foma  put  more  heart  into  such  piratical  adventures  than 
into  all  their  other  enterprises  and  games, — and  behaved 
himself  on  these  incursions  with  a  bravery  which  amazed 
and  angered  his  companions.  In  other  people's  gardens  he 
conducted  himself  in  a  deliberately  reckless  manner:  he 
talked  at  the  top  of  his  voice;  he  broke  off,  with  a  crash, 
branches  of  the  apple-trees;  when  he  plucked  a  wormy 
apple,  he  hurled  it  at  random,  in  the  direction  of  the  owner's 
dwelling.  The  danger  of  being  caught  on  the  scene  of  his 
crime,  did  not  alarm  but  only  excited  him — ^his  eyes  dark- 
ened, he  gritted  his  teeth,  and  his  face  became  haughty 
and  malign.  Smolin  said  to  him,  scornfully  mowing  with 
his  huge  mouth  as  he  did  so: 

"  You  make  a  great  lot  of  braggadocio  over  it.'* 

68 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"  I  simply  am  not  a  coward!  "  retorted  Fomd. 

"  I  know  you  are  not,  but  only  fools  make  a  fuss  like  that. 
You  can  do  the  deed  just  as  well  without  any  fuss." 

Ezhoff  condemned  him  from  another  point  of  view: 

"  If  you  want  to  shove  yourself  right  into  their  hands, 
go  to  the  devil!  They'll  catch  you,  and  take  you  to  your 
father — they  won't  do  anything  to  you;  but  as  for  me, 
my  good  fellow,  they'll  lash  me  with  a  strap  until  all  my 
poor  little  bones  will  be  peeled  bare." 

"  Coward!  "  reiterated  Foma,  straight  in  his  face. 

And  one  fine  day,  Foma  was  caught,  by  the  hands  of 
Staff-Captain  Tchumakoff,  a  small,  thin  little  old  man. 
Creeping  inaudibly  up  to  the  boy,  who  was  engaged  in 
thrusting  the  apples  he  had  plucked  into  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt,  the  old  man  dug  his  fingers  into  Foma's  shoulders, 
and  shouted  menacingly: 

"  I've  got  you,  you  robber!    Aha!  " 

At  that  time,  Foma  was  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  and 
he  dexterously  twisted  himself  free  from  the  old  man's 
clutch.  He  did  not  run  away,  however,  but  knitting  his 
brows  in  a  frown,  and  clenching  his  fists,  he  ejaculated 
threateningly: 

"  Just  you  try  to  touch  me!  " 

"I  won't  touch  you  .  .  I'll  take  you  to  the  police! 
"Whose  boy  are  you?  " 

Foma  was  not  prepared  for  this,  and  all  his  valor  and 
malice  instantly  abandoned  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  a 
trip  to  the  police-station  was  the  sort  of  thing  for  which 
his  father  would  never  forgive  him.  He  trembled,  and 
answered  in  confusion: 

"  Gordyeeff-'s." 

"I— Ignat  Matv}^eevitch's?" 

"  Yes." 

69 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

It  was  the  staff-captain's  turn  to  be  confused  now.  He 
drew  himself  up,  puffed  out  his  breast,  and,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  quacked  impressively.  Then  he  lowered  his 
shoulders,  and  said  to  the  boy,  with  an  air  of  fatherly  per- 
suasion: 

"  Shame  on  you,  sir!  The  heir  of  such  a  distinguished 
and  respected  personage!  .  .  .  You  may  go  .  .  .  But 
if  you  repeat  your  performance,  then  .  .  .  hm!  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  inform  your  papa  ...  to  whom,  by 
the  way,  I  beg  you  to  present  the  assurance  of  my  esteem." 

Foma  watched  the  play  of  expression  on  the  old  man's 
countenance,  and  understood  that  the  latter  was  afraid  of 
his  father.  He  stared  at  Tchumakoff  with  a  furtive  gaze, 
like  a  wolf-cub;  and  the  latter,  with  ridiculously  important 
mien,  twisted  his  grand  mustache,  and  shifted  from  one  foot 
to  the  other  before  the  lad,  who  did  not  take  his  departure, 
despite  the  permission  which  had  been  accorded  to  him. 

"  You  may  go,"  repeated  the  old  man,  and  with  his  hand 
pointed  out  the  road  home. 

"And  how  about  taking  me  to  the  police-station?"  in- 
quired Foma  surlily,  and  then  instantly  was  seized  with 
alarm  over  the  possible  reply. 

"  That  was 1  was  jesting,"  smiled  the  old  man.    "  I 

wanted  to  give  you  a  fright." 

"You're  afraid  yourself — afraid  of  my  father,"  said 
Foma,  and  wheeling  round,  with  his  back  toward  the  old 
man,  he  went  off  into  the  remote  parts  of  the  garden. 

"  I'm  afraid?  A-ah!  Very  good,  sir!  "  shouted  Tchuma- 
koff after  him,  and  from  the  sound  of  his  voice  Foma  knew 
that  he  had  insulted  the  old  man.  He  felt  ashamed  and 
sad;  until  the  evening  he  roamed  about  alone,  and  when  he 
reached  home,  he  was  greeted  by  a  stern  question  from  his 
father: 

70 


Fomi  Gordyeeff 

'Tomka!  ^  Have  you  been  climbing  into  Tchumakoff's 
garden?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy  cahnly,  looking  his  father  straight 
in  the  eye. 

Ignat  evidently  was  not  expecting  such  an  answer,  and 
remained  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  stroking  his  beard. 

"  You  fool!  Why  did  you  do  it?  Haven't  you  plenty  of 
apples  of  your  own?  " 

Foma  dropped  his  eyes,  and  made  no  reply,  as  he  stood 
in  front  of  his  father. 

"  You  see — you  have  put  us  to  shame!  I  suppose  that 
wretched  little  Ezhoff  put  you  up  to  this?  I'll  give  him  a 
lesson  when  he  comes  here — or,  rather,  I'll  put  an  end  to 
your  friendship    .    ." 

"  I  did  it  of  myself,"  said  Foma  firmly. 

"Worse  and  worse!"  exclaimed  Ignat.  "Why  did  you 
doit?" 

"  Because  [talc]  " 

"  Quack!  "  mimicked  his  father.    "Well,  if  you  do  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  must  understand  how  to  explain  it  to^. 
yourself  and  to  other  people.    Come  here!  " 

Foma  approached  his  father,  who  was  seated  in  a  chair, 
and  stood  between  his  knees,  and  Ignat  placed  his  hands 
upon  the  boy's  shoulders,  and  gazed  into  his  eyes,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Are  you  ashamed?  ** 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Foma. 

"  That's  right,  you  blockhead!  You  are  disgracing  your- 
self and  me." 

Pressing  his  son's  head  to  his  breast^  he  smoothed  the 
lad's  hair,  and  again  inquired: 

"What  need  was  there  for  you  to  steal  other  folks' 

apples?  " 

'  Equivalent  to  "  Tom." 

71 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Well — I  don't  know,"  said  Foma,  disconcerted. — 
"  Perhaps  because  things  are  tiresome  .  .  .  You  play, 
and  play  .  .  and  it's  always  the  same  thing  over  and  over 
.    .    and  you  get  bored!    But  this  is — dangerous.    .    ." 

"  It  puts  a  grip  on  the  heart?  "  asked  his  father,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Yes." 

"  Hm!  Perhaps  it  does,  and  so  .  .  .  But  see  here, 
Foma, — drop  it!    If  you  don't,  I'll  deal  severely  with  you." 

"  I'll  never  climb  in  anywhere  again,"  said  the  boy  con- 
fidently. 

"  'Tis  a  good  thing  that  you  assume  the  responsibility 
yourself.  The  Lord  knows  what  sort  of  a  fellow  you'll 
turn  out  to  be,  and,  in  the  meanwhile — never  mind!  'Tis 
no  small  thing  when  a  man  is  willing  to  pay  for  his  own 
deeds,  with  his  own  skin  .  .  Any  other  boy,  in  your  posi- 
tion, would  have  thrown  the  blame  on  his  comrades,  but 
you  say:  *I  did  it  of  my  owii  accord.'  That's  the  way  to 
do,  Foma.  If  you  commit  the  sin,  do  you  answer  for  it. 
What— that  Tchumakoff  didn't— did  he  strike  you,"  Ignat 
asked  his  son,  hesitating  for  his  phrase. 

"  I'd  have  hit  him  if  he  had!  "  remarked  Foma  quietly. 

"  Hm    .    .    ."  grunted  his  father  significantly. 

"I  told  him  that  he  was  afraid  of  you — that's  why  he 
complained.    Otherwise,  he  did  not  wish  to  come  to  you.'^ 

"  Go  on." 

"  By  heavens!  *  Express  my  esteem  to  your  father,'  he 
said    .    .    ." 

"He  did?" 

"  Yes." 

"Ah!  .  .  the  dog!  Now,  just  see  what  people  are  like: 
he  is  robbed,  and  he  sends  greetings — :  *my  regards  to 
you! '    Ha!  ha!    Let  us  assume  that  he  had  been  robbed 

73 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

of  a  kopek,  say — and  a  kopek  is  as  much  to  him  as  a  ruble 
is  to  me.  But  the  point  doesn't  lie  in  the  fact  that  it  is  a 
kopek,  but  in  the  fact  that  it  is  mine,  and  let  no  one  dare 
to  touch  it,  if  I  don't  fling  it  down  myself  .  .  .  Eh! 
Well,  deuce  take  them!  Come  now,  tell  me:  where  have 
you  been,  what  have  you  seen?  " 

The  boy  sat  down  beside  his  father,  and  gave  him  a  de- 
tailed account  of  his  sensations  during  the  day.  Ignat 
listened,  attentively  examining  his  son's  animated  face,  and 
the  brows  of  the  great  man  contracted. 

"  You're  too  highfalutin'  for  me,  my  boy!  And  you're 
still  a  child    .    .    eh— he!" 

"And  in  the  ravine  we  scared  up  an  owl,"  related  the 
boy.  "What  fun  it  was!  The  owl  flew  out,  and  went 
whack!  against  a  tree.  It  even  squealed  until  it  was  really 
pitiful.  But  we  scared  him  again,  and  he  rose  again,  and 
it  was  the  same  thing  all  over — he  flew,  and  flew,  and  then 
went  bang  into  something  .  .  so  that  his  feathers  were 
strewn  all  around!  He  hovered  and  hovered  over  the 
ravine,  and  he  managed  to  hide  himself  somewhere,  and 
we  didn't  try  to  find  him  any  more,  we  felt  so  sorry  for 
him — he  was  all  bruised. — Is  the  owl  completely  blind  by 
day,  daddy?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ignat. — "Some  men  thrash  about  in  life, 
like  the  owl. — They  hunt  and  search  for  their  proper  place, 
and  struggle,  and  struggle, — and  the  only  result  is  that  the 
feathers  fly  off  them,  and  they  accomplish  nothing.  They 
struggle  until  they  are  exhausted,  and  ill,  and  their  plumage 
is  all  gone,  and  they  flap  their  wings,  and  dive  into  any 
place  that  they  happen  to  find,  if  only  to  rest  from  their 
labors.    Eh,  woe  to  such  men — woe,  my  dear  fellow! " 

"  And  does  it  hurt  them?  "  asked  Foma  softly. 

"  Yes,  just  as  it  did  that  owl." 

73 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  And  why  are  they  like  that?  " 

"Why? — It  is  hard  to  say.  One  man  is  so  because  his 
reason  is  beclouded  by  his  pride — he  desires  much,  but  his 
power  is  small;  another  because  of  his  stupidity, — and  for 
all  sorts  of  reasons.    You  can't  understand    .    .    ." 

"  Come,  and  drink  tea,"  Anfisa  summoned  them. 

For  a  long  time  she  had  been  standing  in  the  doorway, 
and,  with  her  hands  crossed  on  her  stomach,  she  had  been 
fondly  admiring  the  huge  form  of  her  brother,  bent,  in 
friendly  wise,  over  Foma,  and  the  thoughtful  pose  of  the 
boy,  who  was  nestling  up  against  his  father's  shoulder. 
/  Thus,  day  by  day,  Foma's  life  unfolded, — a  life  which, 
as  a  whole,  was  not  rich  in  emotions,  but  peaceful  and  quiet. 
Powerful  impressions,  which  excited  the  boy's  soul  for  an 
hour  or  a  day,  now  and  then  stood  out  very  distinctly  against 
the  general  background  of  this  monotonous  existence,  but 
were  soon  effaced  from  it.  The  boy's  soul  was  still  a  placid 
lake — a  lake  shielded  from  the  stormy  gales  of  life,  and 
everything  which  stirred  the  surface  of  the  lake,  or  sank 
to  its  bottom,  disturbed  the  sleeping  water  only  for  a  brief 
space,  or,  slipping  across  its  smooth  expanse,  spread  out  in 
wide  circles,  and  vanished. 

After  spending  five  years  in  the  district  school,  Foma 
finished  four  classes,  after  a  fashion,  and  graduated  as  a 
brave,  black-haired  youth,  with  a  swarthy  face,  thick  eye- 
brows and  a  dark  down  upon  his  upper  lip.  The  expression 
of  his  large,  dark  eyes  was  meditative  and  ingenuous,  and 
his  lips  were  half-open,  like  those  of  a  child;  but  when 
he  encountered  an  opposition  to  his  will,  or  when  anything 
else  irritated  him — the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated,  his  lips 
shut  firmly,  and  his  whole  face  assumed  an  obstinate  and 
determined  expression.  His  god-father,  with  a  sceptical 
laugh,  said  of  him: 

74 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"You'll  be  sweeter  than  honey  for  the  women,  Foma 
.  .  .  but,  so  far,  there's  no  great  amount  of  cleverness 
to  be  seen  in  you." 

Ignat  sighed  at  these  words. 

"  You  ought  to  put  your  son  in  circulation  as  soon  as 
possible,  crony." 

"  Just  wait  a  bit." 

"  What's  the  good  of  waiting?  Let  him  circulate  about 
on  the  Volga  for  two  or  three  years,  and  then  get  him  a 
wife    .    .    There's  my  Liuboff,  a  fine  girl    .    ." 

Liub6ff  Mayakin,  at  that  time,  was  studying  in  the  fifth 
class  of  some  boarding-school  or  other.  Foma  often  met 
her  on  the  street,  and  on  such  occasions,  she  always  nodded 
her  golden-brown  head  in  its  stylish  hat,  condescendingly, 
at  him.  Foma  found  her  pleasing,  but  her  rosy  cheeks, 
merry  brown  eyes,  and  scarlet  lips  could  not  efface  from 
Foma's  mind  the  offensive  impression  produced  by  her  con- 
descending nods.  She  was  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
students  in  the  gjrmnasium,  and  although  among  them  was 
Ezhoff,  his  old  chum,  Foma  was  not  attracted  to  them,  and 
felt  himself  ill  at  ease  in  their  company.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  they  were  all  bragging  before  him  of  their  learning, 
and  were  laughing  at  his  ignorance.  When  they  assembled 
at  Liuboff's  house,  they  all  read  some  little  books  or  other, 
and  when  he  caught  them  at  their  reading,  or  engaged  in 
noisy  discussion,  they  all  fell  silent  at  the  sight  of  him.  All 
this  repelled  him  from  them.  One  day,  when  he  was  sitting 
with  the  Mayakins,  Liiiba  invited  him  to  take  a  stroll  with 
her  in  the  garden,  and  there,  as  she  walked  by  his  side,  she 
asked  him,  with  a  little  grimace; 

"  Why  are  you  so  unsociable  ?  You  never  have  a  word  to 
Bay  about  anything." 

"  What  am  I  to  talk  about  if  I  don't  know  anything?  "/ 
Baid  Foma  simply. 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Learn — ^read  books/' 

"I  don't  want  to." 

"Look  at  those  gymnasium  boys — they  know  every- 
thing, and  can  talk  about  everything. — Ezhoff,  for  in- 
stance." 

"  I  know  Ezhoff — he's  a  chatter-box." 

"You're  envious  of  him — that's  the  simple  fact.  He's 
very  clever.  When  he  finishes  at  the  gymnasium,  he's  go- 
ing to  Moscow,  to  study  at  the  University." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Foma,  indifferently. 

"  But  you'll  be  left  in  the  lurch." 

"  Well,  let  me  be." 

"  How  fine!  "  exclaimed  Liuba  ironically. 

"I  shall  find  my  place  well  enough  without  learning," 
said  Foma  derisively. — "  And  I'll  put  every  learned  fellow 
to  shame — let  the  starvelings  study  hard — ^but  there's  no 
>\  need  for  me  to  do  it." 

^^  "  Fie,  how  stupid — malicious — hateful  you  are!  "  said  the 
girl  scornfully,  and  went  away,  leaving  him  alone  in  the 
garden.  He  stared  after  her,  surly,  offended,  knit  his  brows, 
and,  dropping  his  head,  betook  himself  to  the  remotest  part 
of  the  garden. 

He  had  already  begun  to  make  acquaintance  with  the 
/  charms  of  solitude,  and  the  sweet  poison  of  revery.  Often, 
on  summer  evenings,  when  everything  on  the  earth  is 
dyed  in  the  fiery,  dream-inspiring  hues  of  the  sunset,  a 
troubled  anguish  about  something,  an  anguish  which  he 
could  not  understand,  penetrated  his  breast.  As  he  sat  in 
some  dark  nook  of  the  garden,  or  lay  upon  his  bed,  he 
summoned  up  before  him  the  images  of  fabulous  princesses, 
— they  presented  themselves  with  the  face  of  Liuba,  and 
other  young  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  floated  noiselessly 
before  him  in  the  evening  twilight,  and  gazed  into  his  eyes 

76 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

with  enigmatical  glances.  Sometimes  these  visions  aroused 
in  him  a  flood  of  mighty  energy,  and,  as  it  were,  intoxicated 
him, — he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  throwing  back  his  shoulders, 
with  fully  expanded  lungs  he  drank  in  the  balmy  air;  but 
sometimes  these  same  visions  inspired  him  with  a  feehng 
of  melancholy — he  was  inclined  to  weep,  but  was  ashamed 
of  tears,  and  so  controlled  himself,  and  yet  wept  softly.  Or, 
all  of  a  sudden,  his  heart  would  quiver  with  the  desire  to 
say  something  grateful  to  God,  to  bow  down  before  Him; 
the  words  of  prayers  flashed  up  in  his  memory,  and,  gazing 
heavenward,  for  a  long  time  he  would  whisper  them,  one 
after  the  other,  and  his  heart  was  relieved,  as  it  poured  itself 
out  in  the  superabundance  of  his  powers. 

Patiently  and  cautiously,  his  father  initiated  him  intov 
the  round  of  commercial  affairs,  took  him  with  him  to  the 
Exchange,  told  him  about  the  contracts  and  enterprises  he 
had  undertaken,  about  his  fellow-merchants,  described  to 
him  how  they  "  had  made  their  way,"  what  property  they 
now  owned,  what  were  their  characters  .  .  Foma  quickly 
mastered  the  business,  bearing  himself  seriously  and  ^ 
thoughtfully  toward  everjrthing. 

"  Our  burdock  is  going  to  blossom  into  a  scarlet  poppy!  " 
laughed  Mayakin,  winking  at  Ignat. 

And  yet,  even  when  Foma  had  passed  his  nineteenth 
birthday,  there  was  something  childlike,  ingenuous,  about 
him,  which  distinguished  him  from  other  young  men  of  his 
own  age.  They  laughed  at  him,  considering  him  stupid; 
he  held  himself  aloof  from  them,  offended  by  their  attitude 
toward  him.  But  this  vagueness  of  character  in  Foma  in- 
spired serious  misgivings  in  his  father  and  Mayakin,  who 
never  let  him  out  of  their  sight. 

"I  can't  understand  him!"  said  Ignat  in  affliction. — 
"He  doesn't  go  on  sprees;    apparently,  he  doesn't  run 

77 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

after  the  women,  he's  respectful  to  me  and  to  you,  he 
minds  everything  we  say, — he's  a  handsome  girl,  and  not 
a  young  man  at  all!  And  yet,  he  doesn't  seem  to  be 
stupid  ?  " 

"  There's  no  particular  stupidity  apparent,"  said  Maya- 
kin. 

"Just  look  at  it!  It's  as  though  he  were  waiting  for 
something  .  .  .  There's  a  sort  of  curtain  over  his  eyes 
.  .  His  dead  mother  went  through  life  gropingly,  in  the 
same  fashion.  Now,  there's  Afrikan  Smolin,  who's  two 
years  older — and  just  see  what  he  is!  I  mean  to  say,  that 
it's  even  difficult  to  understand  which  of  them — father  or 
son — is  the  head  of  the  other?  He  wants  to  go  off  to  some 
factory  or  other  to  learn  the  business  ...  he  rails: 
*  you've  brought  me  up  very  badly,  papa '  .  .  There  you 
have  it!  But  my  boy  never  makes  any  move  on  his  own 
account    ...    Oh  Lord! " 

"  Now  see  here,  this  is  what  you  must  do  with  him," 
counselled  Mayakin,  "  do  you  pitch  him,  head  over  heels 
into  some  urgent  business  or  other!  Really!  now,  I  mean 
it!  Gold  is  tried  by  fire.  We  shall  find  out  what  are  his 
propensities,  if  we  leave  him  free  to  act.  Send  him  off  to 
the  Kama — alone." 

*^  Do  you  think  we  can  risk  it?  " 

"  Well,  if  he  ruins  the  affair,  you  will  lose  something  .  . 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  we  shall  find  out  what  he  has  in 
him." 

"  Indeed  then,  I  will  send  him  off,"  said  Ignat  with  de- 
cision. 

Accordingly,  in  the  spring,  Ignat  despatched  his  son  with 
two  barges  of  grain  to  the  Kama  river.  The  barges  were 
in  tow  of  Gordyeeff's  steam-tug,  "  The  Dihgent,"  com- 
manded by  Foma's  old  acquaintance,  formerly  sailor  Efim 

78 


Fom^  Gordydeff 

— now  Efim  Hitch/  a  square  built  man  of  thirty,  a  lynx- 
eyed,  sensible,  steady  and  extremely  severe  captain. 

They  travelled  swiftly  and  merrily,  because  everyone  was 
contented.  Foma  was  proud  of  the  important  commission 
entrusted  to  him  for  the  first  time.  Efim  rejoiced  in  the 
presence  of  the  young  master,  who  did  not  reprove  him 
for  every  oversight,  and  decorate  his  remarks  with  violent 
curses;  and  the  amiable  mood  of  the  two  chief  persons  on 
board  exerted  a  direct  and  beneficial  influence  on  the  whole 
crew.  They  set  out  from  the  place  where  they  had  taken 
aboard  their  grain  in  April,  and  early  in  May  the  steamer 
had  already  arrived  at  its  destination,  where,  after  anchor- 
ing the  barges  close  to  the  shore,  it  took  up  a  position  along- 
side. Foma  was  bound  to  sell  the  grain  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible, and  when  he  had  received  the  money  for  it,  he  was 
to  go  to  Perm,  where  a  load  of  iron  which  Ignat  had  con- 
tracted to  convey  to  the  Fair,  was  awaiting  him. 

The  barges  had  halted  opposite  a  large  village,  which 
eloped  up  to  a  pine  forest,  situated  a  couple  of  versts  from 
the  shore.  On  the  day  after  their  arrival,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, a  large  and  noisy  throng  of  men  and  women  made 
their  appearance,  on  foot  and  with  horses;  with  shouts  and 
Bongs  they  scattered  over  the  decks,  and — in  a  twinkling, 
the  work  was  in  full  swing.  The  women  descended  into 
the  holds,  and  when  they  had  put  the  rye  into  sacks,  the 
men,  flinging  the  sacks  on  their  shoulders,  ran  up  the  gang- 
ways to  the  shore,  and  from  the  shore  carts  heavily  laden 
with  the  long  expected  grain  wended  their  way  slowly  to 
the  village. 

The  women  sang  songs,  the  men  joked  and  abused  each 
other  merrily,  the  sailors,  constituting  themselves  guardians 

'  The  patronymic  (not  surname),  added  as  a  token  of  respect,  and 
social  standing. — Translator, 

79 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

of  order,  shouted  at  the  lahorers;  the  planks  of  the  gang- 
way, bending  under  their  tread,  beat  heavily  on  the  water, 
while  on  shore  horses  neighed,  carts  squeaked,  and  so  did 
the  sand  beneath  their  wheels. 

No  sooner  was  the  sun  up  than  the  air  was  invigoratingly 
fresh  and  densely  impregnated  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
pines;  the  calm  water  of  the  river,  reflecting  the  clear  sky, 
gurgled  pleasantly,  as  it  beat  against  the  bows  of  the  vessels, 
and  the  anchor-chains.  The  loud,  cheerful  noise  of  labor, 
the  youthful  beauty  of  Xature  in  spring,  gaily  illuminated 
by  the  rays  of  the  sun — all  this  was  filled  with  healthy, 
kindly,  coarse  vigor  which  agreeably  stimulated  Foma's 
soul,  arousing  in  him  new  and  troubled  feelings  and  desires. 
He  was  sitting  at  table  under  the  awning  of  the  steamer, 
and  drinking  tea  with  Efim  and  the  consignee  of  the  grain, 
an  official  of  the  County  Council,  a  sandy-haired,  short- 
sighted gentleman  in  spectacles.  Nervously  twitching  his 
shoulders,  the  consignee  in  a  cracked  voice  was  narrating 
how  the  peasants  had  been  starving;  but  Foma  listened 
inattentively,  as  he  gazed  now  at  the  work  below,  nov/  at 
the  other  shore  of  the  river — a  lofty,  yellow,  sandy  cliff, 
on  whose  brow  grew  pine  trees.  The  spot  was  silent  and 
solitary. 

"  I  must  go  over  there,"  said  Foma  to  himself.  And  just 
then  his  ear  caught  the  uneasy,  disagreeably  sharp  voice  of 
the  consignee,  as  though  wafted  from  somewhere  in  the 
distance: 

"  You  wouldn't  believe  it, — it  finally  became  frightful! 
Here  is  a  case  in  point:  in  Osa,  a  peasant  went  to  a  man  of 
the  better  classes,  and  brought  his  daughter,  a  girl  sixteen 
years  of  age. — *  What  do  you  want  ? ' — *  Why,'  says  he, '  here 
I've  brought  my  daughter  to  you,  Well-Born  Sir.' — *  Wliat 
for? ' — *  Well — perhaps  you'll  take  her,'  says  he, — *  you're 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

an  unmarried  man.' — 'What  do  you  mean  by  that?' — 
'  Why,  I  brought  her,'  says  he,  *  I  brought  her  to  town, 
intending  to  hire  her  out,  as  a  servant — but  no  one  will 
take  her — so  do  you  take  her  for  your  mistress! '  Do  you 
understand?  He  offered  his  daughter,  do  you  see!  his 
daughter — as  a  mistress!  The  devil  knows  what  to  think 
of  that!  Hey?  Of  course  the  gentleman  was  astounded, 
rushed  at  the  peasant  and  cursed  him.  .  But  the  peasant 
argued  with  him  very  reasonably:  '  You're  Well-born! 
What  is  she  to  me,  in  such  times  as  these?  She's  entirelv 
superfluous — for  I  have,'  says  he,  *  three  little  boys — they 
will  grow  up  to  be  laborers,  they  must  be  preserved.  Give 
me  ten  rubles  for  the  girl,'  says  he,  '  and  I  can  manage 
with  the  boys.' — What  do  you  think  of  that,  hey?  'Tis 
simply  frightful,  I  tell  you    .    .    ." 

"It's  not  go-o-od! "  sighed  Efim.  "But  hunger  is  not 
a  kind  relation,  as  the  saying  goes:  The  stomach  has  its 
laws,  you  see." 

But  this  story  aroused  in  Foma  a  huge  and  titillating  in- 
terest in  the  girl's  fate,  which  was  incomprehensible  to 
him,  and  the  young  man  hastily  inquired  of  the  consignee: 

"  And  did  the  gentleman  buy  her?  " 

'^  Of  course  not!  "  exclaimed  the  consignee  reprovingly. 

"  Well,  and  what  did  become  of  her  then  ?  " 

"  They  found  some  land  people — they  arranged  matters." 

"  A-ah!  "  said  Foma  slowly,  and  suddenly  and  firmly  an- 
nounced: "I  would  have  given  that  peasant  a  sound 
thrashing!  I'd  have  smashed  his  whole  ugly  phiz  in  for 
him! "  and  he  displayed  to  the  consignee  his  large,  firmly 
clenched  fist. 

"  Eh!  Why? "  exclaimed  the  consignee  with  painful 
loudness,  jerking  the  spectacles  from  his  eyes.  "  You  don't 
understand  the  motive    .    .    ." 

81 


Foma  Gordyeeff 


"  I  do  understand  it,"  said  Foma,  nodding  his  head  ob- 
stinately. 

"  But  what  could  he  do?    It  did  occur  to  him    .    .    ." 

"  Is  it  possible  to  sell  a  human  being?  " 

"  Ah!     It  is  a  piece  of  savagery,  I  admit,  I  know. — " 

"And  a  girl,  into  the  bargain!  Fd  have  given  him  his 
ten  rubles! " 

The  consignee  waved  his  hand  despairingly,  and  made 
no  reply.  His  gesture  disconcerted  Foma;  he  rose  from 
the  table  and  stepping  to  the  bulwark,  began  to  stare  at 
the  deck  of  the  barge,  covered  with  a  throng  of  people 
actively  engaged  in  work.  The  noise  intoxicated  him,  and 
that  dim  something  which  was  fermenting  in  his  spirit 
crystallized  into  a  mighty  longing  to  work  also,  to  possess 
fabulous  strength,  vast  shoulders  and  to  load  upon  them 
a  hundred  sacks  of  rye  at  one  time,  in  order  that  everyone 
might  be  enraged  at  him. 

"  Keep  moving — step  more  lively! "  he  shouted  loudly 
down  at  them.  Several  heads  were  raised  towards  him,  sev- 
eral faces  flashed  across  his  vision,  and  among  them,  one — 
the  face  of  a  woman  with  black  eyes, — smiled  pleasantly 
and  alluringly  at  him.  At  this  smile  something  within  his 
breast  flashed  up,  and  coursed  in  a  hot  flood  through  his 
veins.  He  tore  himself  away  from  the  bulwark,  and  again 
approached  the  table,  conscious  that  his  cheeks  were 
aflame. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  the  consignee.  "  Telegraph  to  your 
father — ask  him  to  deduct  some  grain  as  leakage!  See  how 
dirty  it  is — and  every  pound  is  precious!  He  must  under- 
stand that!    But  your  papa "  he  concluded,  with  a  wry 

grimace. 

"How  much  should  be  deducted?"  asked  Foma,  with 
jaunty  scorn. 

83 


Foma  Gordydeff 

"Would  one  hundred  poods  suit  you?^  Two  hun- 
dred?   .    ." 

*^  That — I  thank  you!  "  cried  the  consignee,  ahashed  and 
delighted.    "  If  you  have  the  right    .    ." 

"  I'm  the  master  here,"  said  Foma  firmly.  "  And  you 
must  not  speak  so  of  my  father — and  make  faces " 

"  Pardon  me!  I  do  not  doubt  your  full  power,  I  thank 
you  sincerely — and  your  papa  also,  in  the  name  of  all  these 
people — in  the  name  of  the  nation." 

Efim  gazed  apprehensively  at  his  young  master — and 
puffing  out  his  lips,  smacked  them,  while  his  master,  with 
haughty  countenance,  listened  to  the  swift  speech  of  the 
consignee,  who  was  pressing  his  hand  warmly. 

"  Two  hundred  poods.  That's — real  Russian  style,  young 
man!  Come,  I'll  announce  your  gift  to  the  peasants  im- 
mediately. You  shall  see  how  grateful  they  will  be — how 
joyful    .    .    ." 

And  he  shouted  below,  in  stentorian  tones: 

"  My  lads!  The  master  makes  you  a  present  of  two  hun- 
dred poods! " 

"  Three  hundred,"  interrupted  Foma. 

"Three  hundred  poods — oh!  thank  you!  Three  hun- 
dred poods  of  grain,  my  lads!  " 

But  the  effect  produced  was  weak.  The  peasants  raised 
their  heads  upwards,  dropped  them  again  in  silence,  and 
went  on  with  their  work.  Several  voices  said  in  a  wavering 
and  rather  unwilling  tone: 

"  Thanks.  May  the  Lord  requite  you.  We  thank  you 
most  humbly." 

But  some  one  shouted  merrily  and  very  scornfully: 

"  What  does  that  amount  to!    Now,  if  you  had  given  ua 
a  little  glass  of  liquor  apiece — that  would  have  been  a  kind- 
'  A  pood  is  thirty-six  pounds  English  weight. — Translator, 

83 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ness — a  real  one.    But  the  grain  goes  to  the  County  Council 
— not  to  us." 

"  Eh!  they  don't  understand!  "  exclaimed  the  consignee, 
disconcerted.    "  Here,  I'll  go  and  explain  it  to  them.'* 

And  he  disappeared.  But  Foma  felt  no  interest  in  the 
attitude  of  the  peasants  towards  his  gift,  he  saw  that  the 
black  eyes  of  the  rosy-cheeked  woman  were  fixed  on  him 
in  a  way  that  was  very  strange  and  pleasant  to  him.  They 
thanked  him,  called  him  to  her  caressingly,  and  he  saw 
nothing  but  them.  The  woman  was  clad  in  town  fashion 
— ^in  shoes  and  a  cotton  jacket,  and  her  black  locks  were 
confined  by  a  peculiar  kerchief.  She  was  tall  and  willowy, 
and  as  she  sat  on  a  pile  of  firewood,  mending  the  grain- 
sacks,  swiftly  moving  her  arms  which  were  bare  to  the 
elbow,  she  continued  to  smile  at  Foma. 

"Foma  Ignatitch! ''  he  heard  Efim's  reproachful  voice. 
"  That  was  an  awfully  big  bit  of  swagger!     Fifty  poods 

would  have  been  plenty!    But  your  brag  was .    Look 

out — ^lest  you  and  I  catch  it  in  the  neck  for  that  per- 
formance— " 

"  Get  out!  "  replied  Foma  curtly. 

"  What  is  it  to  me?  I  shall  hold  my  tongue — ^but  as  you 
are  still  young,  and  I  was  told  to  look  after  you! — why 
— I  shall  catch  it  straight  in  the  face  for  neglecting 
you.'' 

"  I'll  tell  my  father — hold  your  tongue!  "  said  Foma. 

"  I — well — God  be  with  you — ^you're  the  master  here!  " 

"  All  right  then." 

"  I'm  speaking  for  your  own  good,  Foma  Ignatitch 

because,  as  you  are  young — and  simple." 

"  Mind  your  own  business,  I  tell  you,  Efim!  " 

Efim  sighed  and  made  no  reply.  And  Fomd  stared  at 
the  woman  and  thought: 

84 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

*'If  they  were  to  bring  such  a  woman  for  sale — to 
me    .    .    . 

His  heart  beat  more  rapidly.  He  knew  from  conversa- 
tions he  had  heard,  all  about  the  intimate  relations  between 
man  and  woman.  He  knew  them  under  coarse  and  shame- 
ful names,  and  these  names  aroused  in  him  a  disagreeable, 
burning  curiosity  and  shame,  his  imagination  worked  per- 
sistently, and  yet  he  could  not  present  all  these  things  to 
himself  in  images  which  he  could  comprehend.  And  in  his 
heart  he  believed  that  these  relations  were  as  simple  and 
coarse  as  they  had  been  represented  to  him.  When  he  had 
been  laughingly  assured  that  they  were  so,  and  could  not 
be  otherwise,  he  had  smiled  stupidly  and  confusedly,  but 
nevertheless  he  had  thought  that  the  relations  with  a  woman 
were  not  necessary  in  that  shameful  form  for  all  men,  and 
that  there  certainly  must  be  something  purer,  less  coarse 
and  offensive  for  a  man. 

Now,  as  he  admired  the  black-eyed  female  laborer,  Foma 
was  clearly  conscious  of  precisely  the  coarser  attraction  to 
her,  and  he  felt  ashamed  and  alarmed  at  something  or  other. 
But  Efim,  as  he  stood  beside  him,  said  in  a  hortatory  tone: 

"  There  you  are  now  staring  at  that  woman — so  I  cannot 
hold  my  tongue.  She  is  a  stranger  to  you,  but  if  she  tips 
you  the  wink — you,  in  your  youthfulness,  and  with  your 
character,  will  bring  things  to  such  a  pass  that  we  shall 
have  to  make  our  way  home  afoot,  along  the  shore — and 
you'll  be  lucky  if  you  have  even  your  breeches  left." 

"What  do  you  want?''  asked  Foma,  scarlet  with  con- 
fusion. 

"  I  don't  want  anything  for  myself.  But  I  want  you  to 
listen  to  me.  I  can  be  a  complete  teacher  for  you  in  matters 
relating  to  women.  You  must  act  very  simply  with  a 
peasant  woman — give  her  a  bottle  of  liquor,  and  something 

85 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

to  eat,  and  then  set  out  a  couple  of  bottles  of  beer, — and 
give  her  about  twenty  kopeks  in  cash.  For  that  price  she 
will  show  you  her  whole  love  in  the  best  possible  manner/' 

"  You're  always  chattering  nonsense/'  said  Foma  quietly. 

"  I  chatter  nonsense,  do  I  ?  See  here — you  just  entrust 
this  affair  with  her  to  me — will  you?  I'll  bring  about  an 
acquaintance  with  her  for  you  at  once." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Foma,  feeling  a  difficulty  in  breathing, 
and  as  though  something  were  clutching  at  his  throat. 

"  Well  then,  I'll  fetch  her  this  evening " 

With  an  approving  grin  in  Foma's  face,  Efim  marched 
off. 

Until  nightfall  Foma  went  about  in  a  sort  of  fog,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  respectful  and  searching  glances  with  which 
the  peasants  watched  him  after  the  consignee  had  taught 
them  their  lesson.  He  felt  a  sort  of  dread,  he  felt  guilty 
towards  someone,  and  he  answered  all  who  addressed  him 
in  a  submissively-pleasant  way,  as  though  excusing  himself. 

When  evening  came,  a  portion  of  the  laborers  went  off, 
and  assembling  on  the  shore  around  a  large,  brilliant  bon- 
fire, began  to  cook  their  supper.  Fragments  of  their  talk 
floated  to  him  on  the  evening  stillness.  The  reflection  of 
their  fire  fell  upon  the  river  in  red  and  yellow  spots,  which 
quivered  on  the  quiet  water,  and  on  the  panes  in  the  win- 
dows of  the  steamer's  cabin,  where  Foma  sat.  On  the  table 
before  him  stood  several  bottles  of  liquor  and  beer,  and 
plates  containing  bread  and  rehshes.  He  had  curtained  the 
windows,  and  had  not  lighted  the  lamps:  the  faint  glow 
of  the  fire,  penetrating  the  curtains,  fell  upon  the  table,  the 
bottles  and  the  wall,  and  flickered,  growing  now  brighter, 
now  fainter.  All  was  quiet  on  the  steamer  and  on  the 
barges,  except  that  from  the  shore  the  faint  sounds  of  voices 
were  wafted  thither,  and  the  river  plashed  almost  inaudibly 

86 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

against  the  sides  of  the  steamer.  It  seemed  to  Fomd  as 
though  someone  were  hiding  in  the  darkness  around  him, 
listening  to  him,  watching  him. — Now  someone  was  travers- 
ing the  gangway  to  the  barges — walking  hastily,  with  heavy 
tread, — the  planks  of  the  gangway  beat  angrily  and  re- 
soundingly against  the  water. — Foma  hears  the  dull  laugh- 
ter of  the  captain,  and  his  lowered  voice.  Efim  is  standing 
at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  and  speaking  softly  but  impres- 
sively, as  though  inculcating  a  lesson.  All  at  once  Foma 
is  seized  with  an  impulse  to  shout: 

"  I  don't  want  it! '' 

And  he  had  already  arisen  from  the  divan — ^but  at  that 
moment  the  door  of  the  cabin  opened,  the  tall  figure  of  a 
woman  appeared  on  the  threshold,  and  noiselessly  closing 
the  door  behind  her,  she  spoke,  but  not  loudly: 

"  Good  heavens,  how  dark  it  is!  Is  there  any  living  soul 
here?'' 

"  Yes,"  answered  Foma  softly. 

"  Well  then,  good  evening." 

And  the  woman  advanced  cautiously. 

"  Here  I  am  ...  I  will  light  the  lamp,"  said  Foma, 
in  a  broken  voice,  and  throwing  himself  down  upon  the 
divan,  he  again  shrank  into  a  corner. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right  as  it  is — one's  eyes  get  used  to  it,  and 
everything  is  visible  in  the  darkness " 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Foma. 

"IwiU." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  divan,  a  couple  of  paces  from 
him.  Foma  saw  the  gleam  of  her  eyes,  the  smile  on  her  full 
lips.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  she  were  not  smiling  in 
the  same  way  as  she  had  smiled  that  morning,  but  differ- 
ently— somehow — pitifully,  not  cheerfully.  This  smile 
gave  him  courage,  he  breathed  more  freely  at  the  sight  of 

87 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

those  eyes,  which  suddenly  drooped  on  encountering  his 
eyes.  But  he  did  not  know  what  he  ought  to  talk  about 
with  this  woman,  and  for  a  couple  of  minutes  they  both  re- 
mained silent,  with  a  silence  that  was  awkward  and  op- 
pressive.— She  was  the  first  to  speak: 

"  You  must  find  it  very  tiresome  to  be  alone." 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  Foma. 

"Does  our  neighborhood  please  you?  "  the  woman  asked 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  Very  well — there  is  a  great  deal  of  forest." 

And  again  they  became  silent. 

"  The  river  is  prettier  than  the  Volga,  I  think/'  ejaculated 
Foma,  with  an  effort. 

"  I  have  been  on  the  Volga." 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  town  of  Simbirsk." 

"  Simbirsk,"  repeated  Foma,  like  an  echo,  feeling  himself 
again  in  a  condition  which  prevented  his  saying  a  word. 
But  she  must  have  understood  with  whom  she  had  to  deal, — • 
and  suddenly  asked  him,  in  a  bold  whisper: 

"  Well,  master,  what  are  you  about?  Aren't  you  going  to 
treat  me?" 

"  Well!  "  said  Foma,  in  confusion.  "  Eeally — ^what  am  I 
thinking  of!    Please  come  to  the  table." 

He  bustled  about  in  the  darkness,  knocked  against  the 
table,  picked  up  first  one  bottle,  then  another,  and  then 
set  them  down  again,  laughing  in  a  guilty  and  confused  way. 
But  she  came  close  to  him,  and  stood  beside  him,  gazing 
in  his  face,  and  at  his  trembling  hands  with  a  smile. 

"  Are  you  ashamed?  "  she  whispered  suddenly. 

He  felt  her  breath  upon  his  neck,  and  answered  her  in 
the  same  soft  way: 

"Ye-es." 

88 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Then  she  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  gently 
drew  him  to  her  bosom,  saying  in  a  reassuring  whisper: 

"  Never  mind, — don't  feel  ashamed — for  you  know  it 
can't  be  dispensed  with — ^my  beauty,  my  lad — I'm  sorry  for 
you! " 

And  he  felt  like  weeping  at  her  whisper,  his  heart  melted 
in  sweet  languor;  pressing  his  head  to  her  bosom,  he 
clasped  her  closely  in  his  arms,  uttering  unintelligible  words 
which  he  himself  did  not  understand. 

"  Go  away! "  said  Foma,  in  a  dull  voice,  staring  at  the 
wall  with  widely  opened  eyes. 

Kissing  his  cheek,  she  rose  obediently  and  left  the  cabin, 
saying: 

"  Well,  good-bye." 

Foma  was  intolerably  ashamed  in  her  presence,  but  no 
sooner  had  the  door  closed  behind  her  than  he  sprang  up 
and  seated  himself  on  the  divan.  Then  he  rose,  tottering, 
to  his  feet,  and  at  once  was  completely  filled  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  loss — the  loss  of  something  very  precious, 
but  whose  presence  in  him  he  had  not  noticed  until  it  was 
gone. — And  then  immediately  there  arose  in  him  a  new, ' 
virile  sensation  of  pride  in  himself.  He  swallowed  his 
shame,  and  in  its  place  sprang  up  pity  for  the  woman,  who 
had  gone  off,  half-dressed  and  alone,  somewhere  into  the 
gloom  of  the  chilly  May  night.  He  hastened  from  the  cabin 
out  upon  the  deck, — the  night  was  starry  but  moonless,  and 
the  chill  and  darkness  seized  hold  upon  him.  On  the  shore 
a  golden-red  heap  of  coals  still  sparkled.  Foma  listened — 
an  oppressive  silence  was  spread  abroad  in  the  air,  only  the 
water  gurgled  as  it  beat  against  the  anchor-chains,  and  no- 
where was  any  sound  of  footsteps  audible.  He  longed  to 
call  to  the  woman,  but  he  did  not  know  her  name.    Eagerly 

89 


Fomk  Gordy^eff 

inhaling  the  fresh  air,  with  deep-drawn  breaths,  he  stood 
for  several  minutes  on  the  deck,  and  suddenly,  from  beyond 
the  cabin,  from  the  bow  of  the  steamer,  a  sigh  was  wafted 
to  him — a  loud,  heavy  sigh,  resembling  a  sob.  He  started, 
and  cautiously  betook  himself  in  that  direction,  compre- 
hending that  she  was  there. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  deck,  close  to  the  bulwarks,  and 
with  her  head  resting  on  a  pile  of  cordage,  she  was  weeping. 
Toma  saw  the  white  lumps,  which  were  her  bare  shoulders, 
heaving,  and  heard  her  heavy  sobs,  and  felt  oppressed  him- 
eelf. 

Bending  over  her,  he  timidly  inquired: 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Have  I  hurt  your  feelings  ?  " 

"  Go  away — "  said  she. 

"Yes — ^but, — "  said  Foma  confused  and  trembling,  as 
he  touched  her  head  with  his  hand.  '^  Don't  be  angry  with 
me — you  know  it  was  you  yourself " 

"  I'm  not  angry,"  she  answered  in  a  loud  whisper. 
"  Why  should  I  be  angry  with  you  ?  You  are  not  a  shameless 
or  a  violent  man, — you  are  a  pure  soul!  Ah,  my  transient 
darling!    Sit  down  here  beside  me." 

And  taking  Foma's  hand,  she  drew  him  down,  like  a 
child,  upon  her  knees,  pressed  his  head  close  to  her  breast, 
and  bending  over  him,  pressed  her  burning  lips  long  and 
closely  to  his  lips. 

"  What  are  you  crying  about  ?  "  asked  Foma,  stroking  her 
cheek  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  embraced  the 
woman's  neck. 

"About  myself.  Why  did  you  send  me  away?"  she 
asked  reproachfully. 

"  I  was  ashamed,"  answered  Foma,  with  drooping  head. 

90 


Foma  Gordy^eff 


€< 


My  darling!  Speak  the  whole  truth — did  I  not  please 
you?^^  she  asked  laughingly,  but  her  large,  burning  tears 
still  fell  on  Fomd's  breast. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  I''  exclaimed  the  young 
fellow,  even  with  alarm,  and  hastily  uttered  words  concern- 
ing her  beauty,  how  agreeable  she  was,  how  sorry  he  was 
for  her,  how  ashamed  he  felt  before  her.  And  she  listened 
to  him,  and  continued  to  kiss  his  cheeks,  his  neck,  his  head, 
and  his  bare  breast. 

He  ceased  speaking.  Then  she  began  sadly  and  softly, 
as  though  talking  of  a  dead  person: 

"  But  I  imagined  something  else.  When  you  said  '  Go 
away,'  I  rose  and  went.  And  your  words  were  bitter,  very 
bitter  to  me.  This  is  what  I  was  thinking:  they  used  to 
fondle  and  pet  me,  without  weariness,  without  rest;  for  a 
caressing  smile  of  mine  men  used  to  do  everything  I  wished. 
J.  recalled  this,  and  fell  to  weeping!  I  regretted  my  youth 
.  .  .  for  I  am  already  thirty  years  old  .  .  .  the  last 
days  for  a  woman!  E-eh,  Foma  Ignatitch!  "  she  cried,  rais- 
ing her  voice  and  hastening  the  rhythm  of  her  chanting 
speech,  to  which  sounds  plashing  of  the  water  formed  a 
beautiful  accompaniment. 

"Hearken  to  me — spare  your  youth!  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  better  than  it.  There  is  nothing  more  precious! 
With  youth,  as  with  gold,  you  can  do  whatever  you  wish. 
Live  so  that  in  your  old  age  you  will  have  something 
whereby  to  recall  the  years  of  your  youth — I  have  recalled 
mine — and  although  I  wept,  yet  my  heart  burned  with  one 
thing — the  memory  of  how  I  used  to  live — and  I  grew 
young  again,  as  though  I  had  drunk  of  living  water!  My 
Bweet  child!  I  am  amusing  myself  with  you,  if  the  fancy 
takes  me,  Fll  amuse  myself  with  all  my  might  .  .  eh! 
I'll  burn  to  the  very  ashes,  if  I  once  get  ablaze!  " 

91 


Foma  Gordydeff 

And  pressing  the  young  fellow  close  to  her,  she  began 
eagerly  to  kiss  his  lips. 

"Look  o-o-o-out!  ^'  the  watchman  on  the  barge  roared 
mournfully,  breaking  the  word  off  short,  and  beginning  to 
thump  an  iron  plate  with  a  small  hammer.  The  trembling, 
penetrating  sounds  cut  sharply  through  the  triumphant 
stillness  of  the  night. 

In  a  few  days,  when  the  barges  were  unloaded,  and  the 
steamer  was  ready  to  set  out  for  Perm,  Efim,  to  his  great 
discomfiture,  saw  a  peasant  cart  drive  down  to  the  shore, 
and  in  it  the  blackeyed  Pekgaya  with  her  trunk  and  several 
bundles. 

"  Send  a  sailor  to  bring  those  things  aboard,"  Foma  com- 
manded him,  nodding  towards  the  shore.  With  a  reproach- 
ful shake  of  the  head  Efim  executed  the  command,  and 
then,  in  a  subdued  voice,  he  inquired: 

"  So — she  is  going  with  us?  " 

"  She  is  going  with  me,"  remarked  Foma  curtly. 

"  Of  course oh  Lord!  " 

"What  are  you  sighing  about?" 

« "^hy — Foma  Ignatitch!  You  see,  we're  on  our  way  to 
a  big  town  .  .  .  aren't  there  plenty  of  her  sort  to  be  had 
there?" 

"  Come  now,  hold  your  tongue! "  said  Foma  surlily. 

"  I  will — only,  this  is  irregular!  " 

"What?" 

"  This  crazy  prank  will  be  reckoned  up  against  all  of  us. 
Our  vessel  is  proper,  clean — and  all  of  a  sudden — here's  a 
woman!  And  such  a  woman!  Anyhow — the  only  thing 
you  can  call  her  is  a  female!  "  Foma  frowned  suggestiveh^ 
and  said  to  the  captain,  uttering  each  word  distinctly  and 
with  emphasis: 

"  Do  you,  Efim,  take  note,  and  tell  all  the  crew  to  do  the 

93 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

same — that  if  I  hear  a  disrespectful  word  about  her,  1^11 
crack  you  over  the  pate  with  a  log  of  wood!  " 

"  Who's  afraid! "  Efim  was  incredulous,  and  stared 
with  curiosity  in  his  master's  face.  But  he  immediately 
retreated  a  step  from  Foma.  Ignat's  son  disclosed  his  teeth 
in  a  snarl  like  a  wolf,  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated  and  he 
shouted: 

"  Just  you  try  it!    I  dare  you!  " 

Although  Efim  was  frightened,  he  replied  with  dignity: 

"  You  may  be  the  master,  Foma  Ignatitch,  but  I  was 
told:  *  Keep  watch  over  him,  Efim,'  .  .  and  I  am  the 
captain  here." 

"Captain?!"  shrieked  Fomd,  trembling  and  turning 
pale.    "  And  who  am  I?  " 

"  Don't  yell!    For  such  a  trifle  as  a  woman." 

Red  spots  started  out  on  Foma's  pale  face,  he  changed 
from  one  foot  to  the  other,  thrust  his  hands,  with  a  con- 
vulsive movement,  into  the  pockets  of  his  pea-jacket,  and 
said,  in  firm,  even  voice: 

"You!  Captain!  Look  here — if  you  say  another  word 
contrary  to  me — you  may  go  to  the  devil!  Begone!  Go 
ashore!  I'll  finish  the  journey  with  the  pilot!  Do  you 
understand?  You're  not  going  to  hold  command  over  me 
weU?" 

Efim  was  astounded.  He  stared  at  the  master,  and 
worked  his  eyes  in  an  absurd  way,  unable  to  find  an  answer. 

"Do  you  understand,  I  say?" 

"  I  un-der-stand,  I  un-derstand!  "  drawled  Efim.  "  But 
what's  the  use  of  making  a  row  ?   For  the  sake  of  a " 

"  Shut  up! " 

"Phew!" 

Foma's  wildly  blazing  eyes,  and  his  face  distorted  with 
wrath  inspired  the  captain  with  the  happy  thought  of  get- 

93 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

ting  away  from  the  master  as  promptly  as  possible,  and 
turning  briskly  about,  he  went  off. 

"  Phe-ew!  He  made  the  cold  chills  run  down  my  back! 
Evidently,  he's  a  chip  of  the  old  block,"  he  muttered  sar- 
donically to  himself,  as  he  strode  along  the  deck.  He  was 
angry  with  Foma,  and  considered  that  he  had  been  wrong- 
fully insulted,  but  at  the  same  time,  he  felt  over  him  the 
firm  hand  of  a  true  master.  He  had  been  for  so  many  years 
subject  to  authority  that  he  was  pleased  with  the  power 
over  him  that  had  been  revealed,  and  when  he  entered  the 
cabin  of  the  old  pilot,  it  was  with  a  shade  of  satisfaction 
in  his  voice  that  he  narrated  to  the  latter  the  scene  which 
had  taken  place  between  him  and  the  master. 

"You  have  seen  him?"  he  concluded  his  story.  "He's 
just  like  a  puppy  of  a  good  breed, — he  makes  a  good  dog 
at  his  first  hunt.  But  in  appearance  he  is  only  so-so — a 
rather  paltry  young  man  of  muddy  mind.  Well,  never 
mind,  let  him  sow  his  wild  oats — it  will  do  no  harm,  you 
know — with  his  character.  Yes,  how  he  did  yell  at  me! 
'Twas  like  a  trumpet,  I  tell  you.  And  he  instantly  asserted 
his  mastership — as  if  he'd  been  used  to  power  and  strict- 
ness ever  since  his  bread-and-milk  days." 

Efim  spoke  truly:  in  the  course  of  the  last  few  days 
Foma  had  undergone  a  sharp  change.  Passion,  fiaming  up 
in  him,  had  made  him  master  of  the  body  and  soul  of  a 
woman,  he  eagerly  quaffed  the  fiery  sweetness  of  this  power, 
and  it  burned  out  of  him  all  the  awkwardness  which  gave 
to  him  the  appearance  of  a  surly  and  rather  dull  young  fel- 
low, and  in  annihilating  this,  it  had  filled  the  young  man's 
heart  with  the  consciousness  of  his  virile  personality.  Love 
for  a  woman  is  always  fruitful  for  a  man,  be  the  woman 
what  she  may,  even  if  she  gives  only  suffering, — and  in 
suffering  there  is  always  much  that  is  of  value.     Love, 

94 


Fomk  Gordy^eff 

while  it  is  a  violent  poison  for  him  who  is  sick  in  soul,  is 
for  the  healthy  man  as  the  fire  is  to  the  iron  which  wishes 
to  become  steel. 

Foma's  infatuation  for  a  woman  of  thirty,  who  was  cele- 
brating in  the  arms  of  a  youth  the  funeral  of  her  youth, 
did  not  distract  him  from  business;  he  did  not  lose  his 
head  either  in  embraces  or  in  work,  but  threw  himself 
wholly  into  both.  The  woman,  like  good  wine,  excited  in 
him,  with  equal  force,  a  thirst  for  labor  and  for  love,  and 
she  herself  grew  young  again,  rejuvenated  by  the  kisses  of 
youth. 

In  Perm  Fomd  found  awaiting  him  a  letter  from  his  god-, 
father,  who  informed  him  that  Ignat  had  taken  to  drink 
with  longing  for  his  son;  and  that  at  his  age  it  was  injurious 
to  drink  so.  The  letter  wound  up  with  the  advice  that  he 
should  make  haste  with  his  business  and  return  home  as 
speedily  as  possible.  Foma  was  disturbed  by  this  advice, 
and  it  embittered  the  bright  festival  of  his  heart;  but  this 
shadow  was  soon  dissipated  by  business  cares  and  Pelagdya's 
caresses.  His  life  flowed  on  with  the  swiftness  of  the  river's 
current,  and  every  day  brought  to  him  ne^  sensations, 
which  gave  birth  to  new  thoughts.  Pelagaya  treated  him 
with  all  the  passion  of  a  mistress,  with  that  force  of  feeling 
which  women  of  her  age  inject  into  their  amours,  when 
they  are  quaffing  the  last  drops  from  the  cup  of  life.  But 
at  times  another  feeling  was  aroused  in  her,  a  feeling  no  less 
strong,  and  one  which  bound  Foma  to  her  still  more  ef- 
fectually— a  feeling  similar  to  the  attempt  of  a  mother  to 
guard  her  beloved  son  from  errors,  to  teach  him  the  art  of 
living.  Often,  at  night,  as  they  sat  on  deck,  with  their 
arms  about  each  other,  she  said  fondly  but  sadly  to  him: 

"  Heed  me  as  you  would  an  elder  sister.    I  have  lived — 
I  know  what  people  are, — I  have  seen  a  great  deal  in  my 

95 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

life!  Choose  your  friends  carefully,  for  there  are  people 
who  are  as  infectious  as  a  disease  .  .  At  first  you  will  not 
be  able  to  discern  what  sort  of  a  person  the  man  is;  he 
seems  like  all  other  men,  and  all  of  a  sudden,  before  you 
notice  it  yourself,  you  will  begin  to  imitate  him  in  your  own 
life.  All  at  once,  his  ways  have  stuck  to  you.  For  in- 
stance, I  lost  everything  through  a  friend  ...  I  had  a 
husband — two  children — we  lived  well;  my  husband  was 
clerk  of  the  County  Council." 

She  paused,  stared  for  a  long  time  over  the  side  of  the 
yessel,  at  the  water  disturbed  by  the  vessel,  and  then,  with 
a  sigh,  she  began  again: 

"  May  the  All-holy  Birthgiver  of  God  preserve  you  from 
women  of  my  class!  Be  cautious.  You  are  soft,  your  heart 
is  not  really  tempered  and  hardened  yet.  But  women  are 
fond  of  men  like  you — strong,  handsome,  rich;  and  above 
all  be  on  your  guard  against  the  quiet  women — that  sort 
of  woman  clings  to  a  man  like  a  leech — and  drinks  and 
sucks,  and  sucks,  and  all  the  while  is  so  amiable,  so  tender. 
She  will  suck  the  very  juice  out  of  you,  but  will  spare  her- 
self— and  will  merely  break  your  heart  for  nothing.  Deal 
rather  with  those  who  are  bold,  like  me.  Such  women  are 
disinterested." 

She  really  was  disinterested.  At  Perm  Foma  bought  her 
various  new  articles  of  clothing,  and  trifles.  She  was  de- 
lighted with  them,  but  after  examining  them  she  said, 
anxiously: 

"  Don't  squander  your  money  so:  look  out  or  your  father 
will  be  angry.  I  love  you  just  the  same  without  these 
things." 

Before  that  she  had  told  him  that  she  would  go  with 
him  only  as  far  as  Kazan,  where  her  married  sister  lived. 
Foma  did  not  believe  that  she  would  leave  him,  and  when 

96 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

— on  the  night  before  they  reached  Kaz^n — she  repeated 
her  words,  his  brow  darkened  and  he  began  to  entreat  her 
not  to  abandon  him. 

"  Don't  mourn  before  the  time  comes,"  said  she.  "  We 
have  still  a  whole  night  before  us.  When  we  part  you 
may  grieve — if  it  pains  you." 

But  he  urged  her  with  all  the  greater  warmth  not  to 
leave  him,  and  at  last — as  was  to  have  been  expected — he 
announced  that  he  wished  to  marry  her. 

"  There,  there — now! "  and  she  broke  out  laughing. 
"  x\m  I  to  marry  you  when  I  have  a  husband  living?  You 
are  my  dear  little  funny  fellow!  Did  you  want  to  get  mar- 
ried? But  do  men  marry  such  as  I  am?  Marry  when  you 
have  simmered  down.  You  will  have  many,  many,  mis- 
tresses; when  you  have  eaten  your  fill  of  sweets  then  you  will 
crave  for  plain  rye  bread — that's  the  time  to  marry!  I  have 
observed  that  a  healthy  man,  for  his  own  peace  of  mind, 
should  not  marry  young — his  wife  is  not  enough  for  him, 
and  he  will  go  with  other  women.  And  for  your  own  hap- 
piness you  must  take  a  wife  when  you  see  that  she  will  be 
enough  alone  for  you." 

But  the  more  she  talked,  the  firmer  and  more  persistent 
did  Foma  become  in  his  desire  not  to  part  with  her.     ^ 

"  Now  listen  to  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you — "  said  the 
woman  calmly.  ^^A  pine-knot  is  burning  in  your  hand, 
but  you  have  light  enough  without  it,  so  do  you  quench  it 
at  once  in  the  water,  and  then  there  will  be  no  stench  from 
it,  and  it  will  not  burn  your  hands." 

"  I  don't  understand  your  words." 

"You  must:  you  have  done  me  no  harm,  and  I  wish 
no  harm  to  you.    So  I  shall  go  away." 

It  is  difficult  to  say  how  this  dispute  would  have  ended, 
if  fate  had  not  taken  a  hand  in  it.    At  Kazan  Foma  received 

97 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

a  telegram  from  Mayakin,  who  curtly  ordered  his  godson: 
"  Come  at  once,  on  a  passenger-steamer/'  Foma's  heart 
contracted  painfully,  and  a  few  hours  later,  with  set  teeth, 
pale  and  morose,  he  stood  on  the  gallery  of  a  steamer  which 
was  putting  oS  from  the  wharf,  and  with  hands  clenching 
the  rail,  motionless  and  not  even  winking  he  was  gazing 
into  the  face  of  his  beloved,  which  was  receding  from  him 
into  the  distance  along  with  the  wharf  and  the  shore. 
Pelagaya  waved  her  handkerchief  to  him,  and  kept  on 
smihng,  but  he  knew  that  she  was  weeping  great,  painful 
tears.  The  whole  bosom  of  Foma's  shirt  was  wet  with  her 
tears,  and  his  heart  was  cold  and  heavy  with  them,  filled  as 
it  already  was  with  sad  apprehension.  The  woman's  figure 
grew  smaller  and  smaller,  as  though  melting  away,  and 
Foma  gazed  at  it,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  it,  and  felt 
that  in  addition  to  his  terror  about  his  father,  and  his  grief 
for  the  woman,  some  new,  powerful  and  caustic  sensation 
was  coming  into  existence.  He  could  not  put  a  name  to  it, 
but  it  seemed  to  him  very  much  like  offense  at  someone. 

The  throng  of  people  on  the  wharf  became  merged  into 
a  dense,  dark,  dead  spot,  without  faces,  without  forms,  with- 
out motion.  Foma  left  the  rail,  and  began  to  pace  the 
deck  in  surly  mood. 

The  passengers  were  conversing  in  loud  tones,  sat  down 
to  drink  tea,  the  waiters  hurried  to  and  fro  on  the  gallery 
setting  the  little  tables;  somewhere  down  below,  on  the  stern, 
a  child  was  laughing,  an  accordion  was  whining,  the  cook 
was  clashing  his  knives  noisily  and  the  dishes  were  rattling 
loudly.  The  huge  steamer  forged  its  way  swiftly  up  stream, 
cutting  through  the  waves,  making  them  foam,  and  quiver- 
ing with  the  exertion.  Foma  gazed  at  the  broad  strip  of 
broken,  churning,  angry  waves  in  the  wake  of  the  steamer, 
and  felt  within  him  a  savage  desire  to  break,  to  rend  some- 

98 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

thing — to  breast  the  current  with  his  own  bosom,  and  shat- 
ter its  pressure  to  atoms  against  his  chest  and  shoulders. 

"Fate! "  said  someone  near  him,  in  a  hoarse  and  weary 
voice. 

The  word  was  familiar  to  him,  it  had  often  formed  his 
aunt  Anfisa's  reply  to  Foma's  questions,  and  that  short 
word  suggested  to  him  an  idea  of  force  resembling  the 
force  of  God  Himself.  He  glanced  at  the  speakers;  one 
of  them  was  a  gray-haired  little  old  man,  with  a  kindly 
face;  the  other  was  younger,  with  large,  weary  eyes,  and  a 
black,  wedge-shaped  beard.  His  large,  gristly  nose  and 
yellow,  sunken  cheeks  reminded  Foma  of  his  god-father. 

"Fate!"  the  old  man  repeated  with  conviction  to  his 
companion's  exclamation,  and  laughed: 

"  It  is  over  our  life  as  a  fisherman  is  over  the  river;  it 
flings  to  our  vanity  a  hook  with  a  bait,  but  man  instantly 
snaps  up  the  bait,  with  greedy  mouth, — and  then  Fate 
draws  in  her  catch — and  the  man  beats  against  the  earth, 
and  his  heart  is  broken,  you  see  ...  and  that  is  Fate, 
my  good  sir! " 

Foma  shut  his  eyes,  as  though  a  ray  of  sunlight  had 
flashed  into  them,  and  shaking  his  head  he  said  aloud: 

"  That's  so!    Yes— that's  so!  " 

The  men  who  had  been  talking  stared  intently  at  him: 
the  old  man  with  a  fine,  intelligent  smile,  the  big-eyed  man 
in  hostile  wise,  askance.  This  confused  Foma,  and  flushing 
scarlet  he  walked  away,  meditating  about  Fate,  and  wonder- 
ing why  it  should  have  shown  him  favor  by  giving  him 
the  woman  only  to  wrest  the  gift  from  his  hand  in  so  simple 
and  so  offensive  a  manner?  And  he  comprehended  that  the 
dim,  caustic  feeling  which  he  bore  within  him, — was  an 
affront  to  Fate  for  her  trifling  with  him.  He  was  too  much 
spoiled  by  life  to  bear  himself  more  simply  towards  the 

99 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

first  drop  of  gall  in  the  beaker  which  he  had  just  begun  to 
quaff,  and  the  whole  time  of  his  journey  he  spent  without 
sleep,  thinking  about  the  old  man's  words  and  nursing  his 
sense  of  injury.  Yet  it  excited  in  him,  neither  depression 
nor  grief,  but  only  a  wrathful  and  revengeful  feeling. 

Foma  was  met  at  the  wharf  by  his  god-father  and  in 
answer  to  his  impetuous,  anxious  questions,  the  old  man 
announced  to  his  godson,  his  greenish  eyes  sparkling  with 
excitement,  as  he  seated  himself  in  the  open  carriage  beside 
his  godson: 

"  Your  father  has  gone  out  of  his  mind." 

"Is  he  drinking?" 

"  Worse — he  has  lost  his  head  completely." 

"  You  don't  say  so?    Oh  heavens!    Speak — " 

"You  understand:  a  certain  little  lady  has  got  hold  of 
him." 

"What  of  that?"  exclaimed  Foma,  recalling  his  Pela- 
gaya,  and  for  some  reason  he  felt  a  sensation  of  joy  in  his 
heart. 

"  She  is  sticking  fast  to  him — sucking  him  dry." 

"  Is  she  the  quiet  sort?  " 

"She?  Quiet  as  a  conflagration.  She  has  enticed  sev- 
enty-five thousand  rubles  out  of  his  pocket,  like  so  much 
down." 

"0-oh!    Who  is  she?" 

"  Sonka  Med;f nsky,  the  wife  of  the  architect." 

"Heavens!  Can  it  be  that  she  .  .  Is  it  possible  that 
my  father — can  have  made  her  his  mistress?  "  asked  Fom4 
softly,  in  amazement. 

His  god-father  started  back,  and  with  eyes  protruding  in 
an  absurd  way,  said  with  conviction: 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,  you're  cracked  also!  By  heavens, 
you  are  out  of  your  mind!    Gather  your  wits  together!    To 

100 


Fom^  Gordyeeff 

get  up  a  mistress  at  the  age  of  sixty-three — and  at  such  a 
price,  to  boot.  What  ails  you?  Well,  I'll  tell  Ignat  about 
this." 

And  Mayakin  broke  into  a  quavering,  hasty  laugh,  which 
made  his  goat-like  beard  shake  about  in  an  ugly  way.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  Foma  could  get  him  to  explain;  con- 
trary to  his  habit,  the  old  man  was  uneasy,  excited,  hia 
speech,  always  suave,  was  incoherent,  he  told  his  story  inter- 
mingled with  oaths  and  spitting,  and  Foma  had  great  diffi- 
culty in  making  out  what  the  trouble  was.  It  appeared 
that  Sofya  Pavlovna  Medynsky,  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  archi- 
tect, known  to  the  whole  town  for  her  unwearied  efforts  in 
the  promotion  of  various  philanthropic  enterprises, — ^had 
persuaded  Ignat  to  contribute  seventy-five  thousand  rubles 
to  build  for  the  town  a  night  lodging-house  and  a  library 
and  reading-room  for  the  lower  classes.  Ignat  had  given  the 
money,  and  the  newspapers  had  already  lauded  him  for  his 
generosity.  Foma  had  often  seen  this  woman  in  the  street: 
she  was  small  of  stature,  he  knew  that  she  was  considered 
one  of  the  greatest  beauties  in  town,  and  that  ugly  rumors 
were  current  as  to  her  character. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  exclaimed,  when  his  god-father  had 
finished  his  tale.    "  But  I  thought — God  knows  what." 

"You?  You  thought?"  cried  Mayakin  with  sudden 
anger.    "  You  didn't  think  anything — you  milksop!  " 

"  Why  do  you  call  names?  "  asked  Foma  in  surprise. 

"  Tell  me — is  seventy-five  thousand  rubles  a  big  sum  of 
money  in  your  opinion?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Foma,  after  thinking  it  over. 

"Aha-a!?" 

"  But  my  father  has  lots  of  money — why  do  you — " 

Ydkoff  Tarasovitch  lost  control  of  himself  completely: 

101 


Fania  Gordyeeff 


he  stared  scornfully  straight  in  the  face  of  the  young  man, 
and  asked  in  a  weak  sort  of  voice: 

"  Is  it  you  who  is  talking?  " 

"Yes — who  else  could  it  be?" 

"  You  lie!  'Tis  your  youthful  stupidity  that's  speaking, 
that  it  is!  But  my  aged  stupidity — put  to  the  proof  a 
million  times  by  life — says  to  you:  '  You're  still  a  puppy, 
'tis  too  early  for  you  to  be  barking  in  a  bass  voice.' " 

Foma  had  often  been  provoked,  in  his  younger  days,  by 
the  over-figurative  language  of  his  god-father, — ^but  now 
he  felt  himself  deeply  insulted  by  the  old  man,  and  he  said 
to  him,  soberly  but  firmly: 

"  You  will  do  well  not  to  let  your  tongue  loose  at  random, 
— for  I'm  no  longer  a  boy." 

"  Well,  and  what  are  you!  "  cried  Mayakin  jeeringly,  ele- 
vating his  eyebrows  and  casting  a  sidelong  glance  at  him. 

Then  Foma  exploded.  He  looked  the  old  man  straight 
in  the  eye,  and  said,  distinctly  and  impressively: 

"  I  tell  you  again,  that  I  won't  listen  any  longer  to  your 
wanton  curses    .    .    .    Stop  it! " 

"  Hm-m — yes    .     .    .    exactly  so!    Pardon  me." 

Yakoff  Tarasovitch  here  closed  his  eyes,  bit  his  lips, 
and  turning  away  from  his  godson,  remained  silent  for  a 
moment.  The  carriage  turned  into  a  narrow  street,  and 
catching  sight  of  the  roof  of  his  home  in  the  distance, 
Foma  involuntarily  bent  his  whole  body  forward  towards 
it.  At  the  same  moment,  his  god-father,  smiling  craftily 
and  affectionately,  asked  him: 

"Fomka!  Tell  me — on  whom  have  you  been  cutting 
your  teeth?" 

"Have  they  really  become  sharp?"  asked  Foma  de- 
lighted by  this  appeal  on  the  part  of  his  god-father. 

"  They'll  do,  all  right!    'Tis  well,  my  dear  fellow,  'tis 

102 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

very  well!  Your  father  and  I  were  afraid  that  you'd  turn 
out  an  effeminate  fool.  Well,  and  have  you  learned  to  drink 
liquor?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You've  been  prompt  about  it!    Do  you  drink  much?  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  And  you  like  it?  " 

"  Not  very  much." 

"Well — that's  all  right;    it's  not  bad.     Only,  you're 

pretty  frank you're  ready  to  confess  all  your  sins  to 

any  priest  that  comes  along — ^just  reflect  on  that  point,  my 
dear  fellow,  it  is  not  always  the  thing  to  do;  there  are  times 
when  by  holding  your  tongue  you  will  please  people  better 
and  avoid  sin.  Well — yes.  A  man's  tongue  is  rarely  dis- 
creet .  .  Well,  here  we  are.  Look  out — your  father 
doesn't  know  that  you  have  arrived;  and  I  wonder  if  he 
has  come  home  yet?  " 

He  was  at  home;  his  big,  rather  hoarse  laughter  floated 
out  upon  the  street  through  the  open  windows  of  the  room. 
The  noise  the  carriage  made  as  it  drove  up  caused  Ignat  to 
look  out  of  the  window,  and  at  the  sight  of  his  son  he 
shouted  joyously: 

"A-ah!    He's  come!" 

A  moment  later,  pressing  Foma  to  his  breast  with  one 
hand,  he  laid  the  palm  of  the  other  against  his  son's  brow, 
pushed  back  his  head,  gazed  into  his  face  with  beaming  eyes, 
and  said  with  an  air  of  satisfaction: 

"  How  sunburnt  he  is — how  healthy — what  a  fine  fellow  I 
Madam!    Haven't  I  a  fine  son?  " 

"  He's  not  bad,"  said  a  silvery,  caressing  voice. 

Foma  glanced  past  his  father's  shoulder  and  beheld:  in 
the  corner  of  honor,  with  her  elbows  resting  on  the  table, 
sat  a  tiny  woman,  with  luxuriant  blond  hair,  and  from  her 

103 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

pale  face  stood  out  clearly  her  dark  eyes,  delicate  brows,  and 
full,  crimson  lips.  Behind  her  chair  stood  a  large  tropical 
plant,  and  its  huge,  mottled  leaves  hung  in  the  air  above 
her  little  golden  head. 

"  Good  health  to  you,  Sofya  Pavlovna,*'  said  Mayakin 
pleasantly,  as  he  approached  her  with  outstretched  hand. 
"  Are  you  still  collecting  contributions  from  us  poor 
people?" 

Foma  bowed  to  her  in  silence,  and  did  not  hear  her  reply 
to  Mayakin,  nor  what  his  father  was  saying  to  him.  The 
lady  was  gazing  intently  at  him,  and  smiling  at  him  courte- 
ously and  brightly.  Her  childish  figure,  enveloped  in  some 
sort  of  dark  material,  was  almost  indistinguishable  against 
the  dark  crimson  covering  of  the  arm-chair,  so  that  her 
wavy  golden  hair  and  pale  face  seemed  to  shine  forth  from 
the  dark  background.  As  she  sat  there  in  the  corner,  under 
the  green  leaves,  she  was  like  a  flower,  and  like  a  holy 
picture. 

"  See,  Sofya  Pavlovna,  how  he  is  looking  at  you — hke 
an  eagle,  isn't  he  ?  ''  said  Ignat. 

She  puckered  up  her  eyes,  a  faint  flush  rose  to  her  cheek, 
and  she  laughed — and  the  sound  was  like  that  of  a  tiny 
silver  bell.    Then  she  rose,  saying: 

"  I  will  not  intrude  upon  you:  au  revoir.'' 

As  she  went  noiselessly  past  Foma,  he  caught  a  breath  of 
perfumes,  and  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  her  eyes  were 
dark  blue,  and  her  eyebrows  almost  black. 

"  The  pike  has  swum  away,"  said  Mayakin  softly,  gazing 
after  her  malignantly. 

"  Come,  tell  us  about  your  travels.  Have  you  squandered 
a  great  deal  of  money?  "  said  Ignat  in  his  deep,  humming 
voice,  as  he  pushed  his  son  into  the  chair  which  Madam 
Medynsky  had  just  quitted.  Foma  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at 
it,  and  seated  himself  in  another. 

104 


Foma  Gordydieff 


"  She's  a  pretty  little  woman,  isn't  she? ''  asked  Maydkin 
with  a  laugh,  probing  Foma  with  his  crafty  eyes. — "  You'll 
gape  at  her — and  she'll  devour  your  whole  insides    .    .    /' 

For  some  reason  or  other  Foma  shuddered,  and  without 
replying  to  him,  began  to  talk  to  his  father  in  a  business- 
like tone  about  his  journey.    But  Ignat  interrupted  him: 

"  Wait,  I'll  order  some  brandy." 

"But  you're  drinking  continually,  I  hear,"  said  Foma 
disapprovingly. 

Ignat  looked  at  him  with  amazement  and  curiosity,  and 
asked: 

"  Does  one  speak  to  his  father  like  that,  hey?  '^ 

Foma  dropped  his  head  in  confusion. 

"Never  mind!"  said  Ignat  goodnaturedly,  and  shouted 
for  some  brandy.  Mayakin  half-closed  his  eyes,  looked 
hard  at  the  Gordyeeffs,  sighed,  took  leave  and  went  away, 
after  inviting  them  to  come  to  his  house  in  the  evening  to 
drink  tea  with  raspberries. 

"Where's  Aunty  Anfisa?"  asked  Foma,  feehng  rather 
awkward,  now  that  he  was  alone  with  his  father. 

"  She  has  gone  off  to  the  convent  .  .  Come,  now, 
talk  to  me  while  I  drink." 

In  a  few  minutes  Foma  had  told  his  father  all  about  busi- 
ness matters,  and  wound  up  his  account  with  a  frank  con- 
fession. 

"  I  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  money  on  myself."  , 

"How  much?" 

"  Six  hundred  rubles." 

"  In  a  month  and  a  half!  That's  a  good  deal. — I  see  that 
you  will  cost  me  pretty  dear  as  a  clerk.  How  did  you 
squander  it?  " 

"  I  made  a  present  of  three  hundred  poods  of  grain." 

** To  whom?    How?" 

105 


FomA  Gordy^eff 

Foma  explained. 

"  Hm!  well — never  mind — ^that's  all  right! "  said  hia 
father  approvingly.  "It's  a  plain  case — for  your  father's 
honor — for  the  honor  of  the  firm.  And  there's  no  loss — 
because, — glory  is  a  good  thing — and  that  matter,  my  dear 
fellow,  is  the  best  advertisement  for  trade.  Well — and  what 
else?" 

"  Well — I — ^just  spent  it,  one  way  and  another." 

"  Speak  plainly — I'm  not  asking  about  the  money; — I 
want  to  know  about  your  own  life,"  persisted  Ignat,  in- 
specting his  son  intently  and  severely. 

"I  ate — and  drank — "  said  Foma,  surlily,  without  be- 
traying himself,  and  bowing  his  head  in  confusion. 

"You  drank?    Vodka?" 
Yes — among  the  rest." 
Ah!    Isn't  it  rather  early  to  begin  that?  " 
Ask  Efim  if  I  got  drunk." 

"  Why  should  I  question  Efim?  You  must  tell  me  every- 
thing yourself.    So  you  drink,  it  appears  ?    I  don't  like  it." 

"  I  can  get  along  without  drinking." 

"  No  you  can't !     Will  you  have  some  brandy  ?  " 

Foma  looked  at  his  father  and  grinned  broadly.  And 
his  father  replied  by  a  good-natured  smile. 

"  Heigh-ho !  the  devil !  Drink — but  look  out — under- 
stand what  you  are  about.  How  do  you  pass  your  time  ? 
A  drunkard  will  wake  up,  a  fool  never — let  us  comprehend 
this  much,  at  least,  for  our  own  consolation.  .  .  Well, 
and  did  you  carry  on  with  the  girls?  Speak  out!  Do 
you  suppose  I'm  going  to  thrash  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did.  There  was  one  on  the  steamer.  I  took 
her  from  Perm  to  Kazan." 

"  Well," — Ignat  sighed  heavily,  and  said,  with  a  frown : 
"  You've  defiled  yourself  early." 

106 


« 
it 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  I'm  twenty  years  old.  And  you  said  yourself,  that  in 
your  day,  boys  of  fifteen  got  married,"  retorted  his  son, 
taken  aback. 

"  Exactly — they  got  married.  Well,  all  right,  let's  drop 
the  subject.  So  you  cut  up  with  a  girl;  what  of  that? 
Woman  is  like  the  small-pox;  you  can't  live  without  hav- 
ing her.  And  it  doesn^t  suit  me  to  play  the  hypocrite, — 
I  began  to  make  love  to  the  women  even  earlier  than  you 
have  done.     Only,  be  on  your  guard  with  them." 

Ignat  fell  into  thought,  and  remained  silent  for  a  long 
time,  as  he  sat  motionless,  with  bowed  head. 

"  See  here,  Foma,"  he  began  again,  harshly  and  firmly, 
"  I  shall  die  before  long.  I'm  old.  I  feel  a  weight  on 
my  breast;  it  is  hard  for  me  to  breathe.  I  shall  die. 
Then  all  the  business  will  devolve  upon  you.  Your  god-1 
father  will  help  you  at  the  start;  heed  his  advice!  You 
have  made  a  good  beginning,  you  have  handled  everything 
in  the  proper  manner,  you  have  got  a  good  grip  on  the 
reins,  and,  although  your  spree  has  cost  a  lot  of  money, 
'tis  evident  that  you  have  not  lost  your  common-sense. 
God  grant  that  it  may  be  so  in  the  future  also.  You 
must  know  this:  business  is  a  live  and  powerful  wild  beast; 
it  must  be  managed  wisely;  you  must  keep  a  tight  rein  on 
it  or  it  will  get  the  better  of  you.  Try  to  stand  above 
your  business — place  yourself  in  such  a  position  that  it 
will  all  be  under  your  feet,  in  sight;  let  every  little  rivet 
in  it  be  visible  to  you." 

Foma  gazed  at  his  father's  broad  chest,  listened  to  his 
deep  voice,  and  thought  to  himself: 

"  Well,  you'll  not  die  in  a  hurry ! " 

This  thought  was  pleasing  to  him,  and  aroused  in  him 
a  kindly,  fervent  sentiment  toward  his  father. 

"  Stick  to  your  god-father — he  has  brains  in  his  noddle 

107 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

— enough  for  the  whole  town — only  he  lacks  courage;  if 
it  were  not  for  that,  he  would  rise  high.  Yes,  as  I  tell 
you,  I  have  not  long  to  live.  In  fact,  it  is  time  for  me 
to  prepare  for  death.  Fd  like  to  give  up  everything  and 
make  my  devotions,  and  arrange  things  so  that  people 
would  remember  me  kindly.'' 

"  They  will  remember  you !  "  said  Foma  confidently. 

"  There  ought  to  be  something  to  make  them." 

"  And  how  about  the  night  lodging-house?  " 

Ignat  glanced  at  his  son  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"So  Yakoff  has  already  told  you;  he  found  time  for 
that,  the  old  skinflint!     He  abused  me,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,  he  did  a  little,"  admitted  Foma,  smiling. 

"  Well,  of  course !     Don't  I  know  him  ?  " 

"  He  spoke  about  it  exactly  as  though  it  were  his 
money." 

Ignat  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  burst  into  a 
louder  roar  of  laughter  than  before. 

"  Oh,  the  old  raven !  he  did,  did  he  ?  You're  right 
about  that.  In  his  eyes,  my  money  and  his  own  are  one 
and  the  same  thing;  so  he's  trembling.  He  has  an  ob- 
ject, the  bald-headed  rogue!  Come,  now,  teU  me  what 
it  is." 

Foma  reflected,  and  said: 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Eh !    You're  stupid.    He  wants  to  unite  the  money.'* 

"How?" 

"Well  then,  guess!" 

Fomd  looked  at  his  father — and  guessed.  His  face 
clouded  over,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  saying,  decisively: 

"  No,  I  will  not ;  I  will  not  marry  her ! " 

"  Oh!  what's  the  meaning  of  this?  She's  a  healthy  lass, 
not  Stupid,  her  father's  only  child." 

108 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"And  how  about  Taras,  the  one  who  disappeared? 
And  I — will  not,  on  any  terms !  " 

"  The  son  who  disappeared  has — disappeared,  and 
that's  the  end  of  it ;  it  doesn't  seem  worth  while  to  discuss 
him.  There  is  a  will,  my  dear  fellow,  which  says :  *  All 
my  property,  real  and  personal,  I  bequeath  to  my  daugh- 
ter, Liuboff.'  And  as  for  her  being  your  god-sister — 
we'll  arrange  that."  ^ 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"  said  Fom4,  firmly;  "  I  will 
not  marry  her !  " 

"  Well,  it's  early  yet  to  talk  about  that.  But  why  isn't 
she  to  your  liking  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  that  sort." 

"  Re — eally !  Pray  tell  me,  sir,  what  sort  are  most  to 
your  taste." 

"The  very  simple  ones.  She's  there  with  the  gym- 
nasium girls  and  her  little  books — she  has  become  learned. 
She  will  laugh  at  me,"  said  Foma,  with  agitation. 

"  That's  true  enough.  She's  forward,  beyond  all  bounds, 
but  that's  of  no  consequence — all  sorts  of  iron-rust  can  be 
polished  off  if  you  apply  elbow-grease.  That's  something 
that  time  will  mend.  But  your  god-father  is  a  clever  old 
fellow.  His  existence  has  been  tranquil,  sedentary,  and 
as  he  sat  still  in  one  place,  he  has  thought  about  every- 
thing .  .  he's  worth  heeding,  my  dear  boy;  he  sees 
through  and  through  every  affair  in  life.  He's  one  of  our 
'ristocrats,  from  the  days  of  Matushka  Yekaterina — ha, 
ha !  And,  as  his  race  has  died  out  in  Taras,  he  has  decided 
to  put  you  in  the  place  of  Taras.    Do  you  realize  that  ?  " 

"No.    I — I'll  choose  my  own  place  for  myself,"  said 

Foma  obstinately. 

'  According  to  the  canons  of  the  Holy  Orthodox  Catholic  Church  of 

the  East  this  ''relationship"  is  within  the  prohibited  degrees. — Trans' 

lator, 

109 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  'Xou're  stupid,  still  1 "  laughed  his  father,  in  reply  to 
his  words. 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  approach  of 
Aunt  Anfisa. 

"  Fomushka!  you  have  come! "  she  cried,  somewhere 
outside  the  door.  Foma  rose,  and  went  to  meet  her,  with 
an  affectionate  smile. 

Again  his  life  flowed  on  slowly,  quietly,  and  monot- 
onously. There  was  more  ^Change,  and  instruction  from 
his  father.  While  preserving  toward  his  son  a  tone  of  ami- 
able raillery,  Ignat  began,  on  the  whole,  to  treat  him  more 
sternly.  He  called  the  young  man^s  attention  to  every 
petty  trifle,  and  more  and  more  frequently  reminded  him 
that  he  had  brought  him  up  in  freedom,  had  never  put 
any  restraint  upon  him,  and  had  never  thrashed  him. 

"  Other  fathers  beat  fellows  like  you  with  logs  of  wood — 
but  I  have  never  laid  a  finger  on  you.^' 

"  Evidently,  there  was  no  cause  for  doing  it,^^  retorted 
Foma  calmly,  one  day. 

Ignat  flew  into  a  rage  against  his  son  for  these  words, 
and  the  tone  with  which  they  were  uttered. 

"  Talk  away !  ^'  he  bellowed. — "  YouVe  got  uppish, 
under  my  tender  handling.  You  have  an  answer  ready  for 
everything.  See  here — though  my  hand  has  been  soft,  it 
can  still  squeeze  so  that  the  tears  will  burst  out  of  your 
heels.  You've  run  up  rapidly,  like  a  toad-stool;  no 
sooner  have  you  thrust  your  head  above  ground  than  you 
Btink." 

"  Why  are  you  angry  with  me  ?  "  Foma  asked,  surprised 
and  hurt,  when  his  father  was  in  an  amiable  frame  of 
mind. 

"  And  you  can't  endure  to  have  your  father  grumble 
at  you — you  pick  a  quarrel  on  the  spot.'' 

110 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"But  it  is  insulting  to  me.  I  have  not  become  any 
worse — and  I  see  how  other  fellows  of  my  age  live/^ 

"  Your  head  won^t  fall  off  if  I  do  scold  you  now  and 
then.  And  I  scold  because  I  see  that  there's  something  in 
you  which  you  don't  get  from  me  .  .  what  it  is,  I  don't 
know;  but  I  see  that  it  is  there,  and  is  injurious  to  you." 

These  words  from  his  father  caused  Foma  to  ponder 
deeply.  He  himself  felt  within  himself  something  pecul- 
iar, which  thrust  him  apart  from  men  of  his  own  age,  but 
he,  also,  was  unable  to  comprehend  what  it  was.  And 
he  maintained  a  suspicious  watch  on  himself. 

It  pleased  him  to  be  on  'Change,  in  the  tumult  and  talk 
of  solid  men,  who  had  conducted  thousands  of  affairs ;  he 
was  flattered  by  the  respect  with  which  the  less  wealthy 
traders  saluted  and  conversed  with  him,  Foma  Gordyeeff, 
the  son  of  the  millionaire.  , 

He  felt  proud  and  happy  if,  now  and  then,  he  succeeded  * 
in  managing  some  detail  in  his  father's  business,  on  his 
own  responsibility,  and  earning  a  smile  of  approval  from 
his  father  for  his  successful  management.  He  had  a 
good  deal  of  ambitious  aspiration  to  seem  a  full-grown  and 
active  business  man,  but  he  lived  a  lonesome  life,  as  before 
— previous  to  his  trip  to  Perm — and  did  not  yet  feel  any 
yearning  to  have  friends,  although  every  day  he  encoun- 
tered many  sons  of  merchants,  of  his  own  age.  ^^Iany  a 
time  did  they  invite  him  to  carouse,  but  he  roughly  and 
scornfully  refused  the  invitations,  and  even  sneered: 

"  I'm  afraid.  Your  fathers  will  find  out  about  these 
carouses,  and  they  will  thrash  you,  probably,  and  I  shall 
get  it  in  the  neck  from  them." 

What  displeased  him  in  them  was,  that  they  caroused 
and  indulged  their  vices  on  the  sly  from  their  fathers, 
with  money  stolen  from  their  fathers'  funds,  or  borrowed 

111 


Foma  Gordy6eff 

on  notes  of  hand  for  long  periods,  at  huge  interest.  They, 
on  their  part,  did  not  like  him,  because  of  his  reserve  and 
squeamishness,  in  which  they  detected  great  pride  that 
was  offensive  to  them.  He  felt  embarrassed  at  convers- 
ing with  the  older  men,  fearing  that  he  might  appear  to 
them  stupid  and  ignorant  of  business. 

He  often  called  to  mind  Pelagaya,  and,  at  first,  he  felt 
sad  when  her  image  flashed  up  in  his  imagination.  But 
time  passed,  and  somewhat  obliterated  the  brilliant  hues 
of  this  woman,  and,  imperceptibly  to  himself,  her  place  in 
his  dreams  was  usurped  by  little,  angel-faced  Madame 
Medynsky.  Almost  every  Sunday  she  ran  in  to  see  Ignat, 
with  various  requests,  with  one  general  object  in  view — 
to  hasten  the  construction  of  the  night  lodging-house. 
In  her  presence  Foma  felt  himself  awkward,  huge,  heavy; 
this  displeased  him,  and  he  flushed  a  deep  scarlet  under 
the  affectionate  gaze  of  Sofya  Pavlovna's  big  eyes.  He 
noticed  that  every  time  she  glanced  at  him  her  eyes  grew 
dark,  and  her  upper  lip  quivered,  and  was  raised  almost 
imperceptibly,  revealing  her  tiny  white  teeth.  This  al- 
ways alarmed  him.  His  father,  observing  his  glances  at 
Madame  Medynsky,  said  to  him: 

"  Don't  you  stare  too  much  at  that  little  phiz.  She's 
like  birch-wood  coals;  outwardly  they  are  just  such  mod- 
est, smooth,  dark  affairs, — they  seem  to  be  perfectly  cold, 
— but  if  you  take  them  in  your  hand,  they  burn." 

Madame  Medynsky  did  not  evoke  in  the  young  man  a 
feeling  of  sensual  attraction,  for  there  was  nothing  about 
her  which  resembled  Pelagaya,  and,  in  general,  she  was 
not  like  all  other  women.  He  knew  that  disgraceful 
things  were  said  about  her,  but  he  believed  none  of  them. 
Still,  he  changed  his  attitude  toward  her,  when  he  saw 
her  in  a  calash,  sitting  by  the  side  of  a  gentleman  in  a 

112 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

gray  hat,  and  with  long  locks  of  hair  hanging  on  his  shoul- 
ders. The  man's  face  was  like  a  bladder,  red  and  swollen, 
he  had  neither  beard  nor  mustache,  and  his  whole  person 
resembled  a  woman  in  man's  garb.  Fomd  was  told  that 
this  person  was  her  husband.  It  was  then  that  obscure 
and  contradictory  feelings  flared  up  in  him:  he  felt  in- 
clined to  insult  the  architect,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he 
experienced  a  sensation  of  envy  and  respect  for  him. 
Madame  Medynsky  seemed  less  beautiful,  and  more  ac- 
cessible ;  he  began  to  pity  her,  and  yet  he  said,  maliciously, 
to  himself : 

"  She  must  find  it  very  repulsive  when  he  kisses  her.'' 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  he  sometimes  became  conscious 
of  a  certain  bottomlessly  profound,  oppressive  emptiness 
within  himself,  which  nothing  could  fill — neither  the  im- 
pressions of  the  day  just  past,  nor  the  memory  of  days  of 
yore;  'Change,  and  business  affairs,  and  Madame  Medynsky 
— all  were  swallowed  up  in  this  gulf.  It  agitated  him; 
in  its  gloomy  depths  he  suspected  the  existence  of  some 
power  that  was  hostile  to  him,  though  still  formless,  which 
was  already  cautiously  and  persistently  striving  to  become 
incarnate. 

And,  in  the  meanwhile,  Ignat,  who  had  changed  little 
in  outward  aspect,  grew  more  and  more  uneasy  and  quer- 
ulous, and  complained  more  and  more  frequently  of  indis- 
position. 

"  I  can't  sleep — and  I  used  to  sleep  like  a  log,  and  you 
might  have  skinned  me  and  I  wouldn't  have  known  it. 
But  now,  I  thrash  and  turn  from  side  to  side,  and  hardly 
get  to  sleep  by  morning.  And  I  keep  waking  up — my 
heart  beats  unevenly,  sometimes  like  a  hunted  creature, 
so  fast:  '  tuk-tuk-tuk ' — and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  it  dies 
away, — it  seems  as  though  it  would  burst  the  next  minute 

113 


Foma  Gordydeff 

and  fall  down,  somewhere,  very  deep — to  my  very  bowels. 
— Have  mercy  upon  me,  0  God,  according  to  Thy  great 
mercy ! '' 

And  with  a  penitent  sigh,  he  raised  his  stern  eyes,  which 
were  already  dimmed  and  had  lost  their  gleam  of  intelli- 
gence, toward  heaven. 

"  Death  is  lying  in  wait  for  me  somewhere  near  at 
hana,"  he  said,  morosely,  but  submissively.  And,  in  fact, 
it  speedily  laid  low  his  huge,  powerful  body. 

This  came  to  pass  in  August,  early  one  morning.  Foma 
was  sleeping  soundly,  when  he  suddenly  felt  some  one 
shaking  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  heard  a  hoarse  voice 
close  to  his  ear: 

"  Get  up.     :' 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  his  father  sitting  on  the 
chair  beside  his  bed,  repeating  in  a  dull  monotone : 

"  Get  up,  get  up.'^ 

The  sun  had  just  risen,  and  its  light,  which  fell  upon 
Ignat's  white  linen  shirt,  had  not  yet  lost  its  rosy  hue. 

*^It's  early,"  said  Foma,  stretching  himself. 

"  That^s  all  right — you  can  have  your  sleep  out  later.'' 

Wrapping  himself  lazily  in  the  coverlet,  Foma  inquired : 

"  Is  anything  wanted  ?  '' 

"  Do  get  up,  my  dear  boy,  I  entreat ! ''  cried  Ignat,  and 
added,  in  an  offended  tone :  "  Of  course,  there's  some- 
thing wanted,  if  I  wake  you." 

On  scanning  his  father's  face,  Fomd  perceived  that  it 
was  gray  and  haggard. 

"  Aren't  you  feeling  well  ?  " 

"IfeelaHttle— " 

"  Do  you  want  the  doctor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  the  doctor ! "  and  Ignat  waved  his  hand. 
'"Tm  no  infant;  I  know  enough  without  him." 

114 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"What?'' 

"  Well — I  know ! ''  said  the  old  man  mysteriously,  gaz- 
ing round  the  room  in  a  rather  strange  manner.  Fom4 
dressed  himself,  and  his  father,  dropping  his  head,  said 
slowly : 

"  I'm  afraid  to  breathe.  .  .  I  have  an  idea  that  if  I 
were  to  take  a  full  breath  now  my  heart  would  burst. 
— To-day  is  Sunday!  After  the  early  Liturgy,  send  for 
help.'' 

"  What  ails  you,  papa  ?  "  laughed  Foma. 

"  Nothing — I — Wash  yourself,  and  go  into  the  garden 
— Fve  ordered  them  to  serve  the  samovar  there — and 
we'll  drink  tea  in  the  morning  freshness.  I  long  for  my 
tea,  strong  and  hot.     .     Be  as  quick  as  you  can." 

The  old  man  rose  heavily  from  his  chair,  and,  much 
bowed  down,  walking  uncertainly  with  his  bare  feet,  he 
left  the  room.  Foma  stared  after  his  father,  and  the 
piercing  chill  of  terror  contracted  his  heart.  Washing 
himself  hurriedly,  he  hastened  to  the  garden. 

There,  under  an  aged,  wide-spreading  apple-tree,  sat 
Ignat  in  a  large  oaken  arm-chair.  The  sunlight  filtered 
through  the  branches  of  the  tree,  and  fell  in  slender  rib- 
bons upon  the  white  figure  of  the  old  man,  clad  in  his 
night-clothes.  It  was  so  impressively  still  in  the  garden 
that  even  the  rustling  of  a  branch,  accidentally  swept  by 
Foma's  garments,  seemed  to  him  a  loud  sound,  and  he 
shivered.  In  front  of  his  father,  on  the  table,  stood  the 
samovar,  purring  like  a  well-fed  cat,  and  throwing  a 
stream  of  steam  into  the  air.  In  the  stillness  and  fresh- 
ness of  the  verdure  of  the  garden,  washed  on  the  previous 
day  by  an  abundant  shower,  this  bright  spot  of  boldly 
gleaming,  noisy  copper  seemed  to  Foma  like  a  superfluous 
thing,  befitting  neither  the  time  nor  the  place — nor  the 

115 


Fomi  Gordy^eff 

feeling  aroused  in  him  by  the  sight  of  the  sick,  bent  man, 
clothed  in  white,  sitting  alone  under  the  shelter  of  the 
silent,  motionless,  dark-green  foliage,  in  which  the  crim- 
son apples  modestly  concealed  themselves. 

"  Sit  down,''  said  Ignat. 

"  It  would  be  best  to  send  for  the  doctor,''  hesitatingly 
advised  his  son,  as  he  sat  down  opposite  him. 

"  It's  not  necessary.  My  distress  seems  to  have  passed 
off  in  the  open  air.  And  when  I  drink  my  tea,  perhaps 
I  shall  feel  still  more  relieved,"  said  Ignat,  pouring  the 
tea  into  the  glasses,  and  Foma  noticed  that  the  tea-pot 
shook  in  the  old  man's  hand, 

"  Drmk." 

Silently  drawing  his  glass  toward  him,  Foma  bent  over 
it,  blowing  the  froth  from  its  surface,  and  with  a  heavy 
heart  listening  to  his  father's  short,  stertorous  breathing. 

All  at  once  something  clanged  on  the  table  so  loudly 
that  the  tea-things  rattled.  Foma  shuddered,  threw  up 
his  head,  and  met  the  startled,  almost  unconscious,  gaze 
of  his  father.  Ignat  stared  at  his  son,  and  whispered 
hoarsely : 

"  An  apple  fell — like  a  shot !  crashed  down  as  though 
from  a  gun — didn't  it  ?  " 

"You'd  better  take  some  brandy  in  your  tea,"  sug- 
gested Foma. 

« It's  all  right  as  it  is." 

Both  fell  silent.  A  flock  of  finches  flew  over  the  gar- 
den, showering  their  irritatingiy  merry  twitter  in  the 
air.  And  again  solemn  silence  wrapped  the  mature 
beauty  of  the  garden  in  its  embrace.  The  terror  had  not 
yet  disappeared  from  Ignat's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Jesus  Christ!  "  he  began  in  a  low  tone,  cross- 
ing himself  vehemently. — "We-ell — ^it  has  come,  my  last 

hour  of  life." 

116 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Enough,  papa!  "  whispered  Foma. 

"Enough  of  what? — come,  let's  finish  our  tea,  and  then 
'lo  you  go  for  the  priest,  and  my  crony.'' 

"  I'd  better  go  at  once." 

"  The  bells  are  just  ringing  for  the  Liturgy  .  .  you 
can't  get  the  priest — and  there's  no  hurry,  perhaps  it  will 
pass  off  again." 

And  he  began  to  sip  his  tea  noisily  from  the  saucer. 

"  I  ought  to  live  a  year  or  two  longer — you're  young, 
and  I  have  great  fears  for  you. — Live  honorably  and  solidly, 
— do  not  covet  other  men's  property,  keep  a  firm  hold  on 
your  own." 

It  was  difiicult  for  him  to  speak,  he  paused,  and  rubbed 
his  chest  with  his  hand. 

"  Put  no  trust  in  people,  do  not  expect  much  from  them. 

We  all  live  for  the  purpose  of  taking,  not  of  giving    .    .    . 

j^^^Oh  Lord!  have  mercy  upon  a  sinner!  " 

*      From  somewhere  in  the  distance,  the  heavy  sound  of  a 

bell  fell  upon  the  morning  silence.     Ignat  and  his  son 

crossed  themselves  thrice. 

The  first  clamor  of  brass  was  followed  by  a  second,  a 
third,  and  soon  the  air  was  filled  with  the  sounds  of  bells 
ringing  for  church,  which  were  borne  thither  from  all 
quarters — calling  in  smooth,  sonorous,  measured  cadence. 

"  They  have  chimed  for  the  Liturgy,"  said  Ignat,  listen- 
ing to  the  brazen  roar.  "  Do  you  know  the  bells  by  their 
voices?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Fomd. 

"Then  listen. — That  one — do  you  hear  it? — the  bass, 
belongs  to  the  church  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  gift  of  Piotr 
Mitritch  Vyagin;  and  that  other,  the  hoarse  one,  to  the 
church  of  St.  Prascovia  Pyatnitza    .    ." 

The  singing  floods  of  sound  shook  the  air,  which  was 

117 


Foma  Gordyeefif 

filled  with  them,  and  melted  away  in  the  clear  blue  of  the 
sky.  Foma  gazed  thoughtfully  at  his  father's  face,  and 
saw  that  the  alarm  was  vanishing  from  his  eyes,  which  were 
growing  more  animated.  But  all  at  once,  the  old  man's  face 
turned  a  dark  red,  his  eyes  opened  widely,  and  started  from 
their  sockets,  his  mouth  opened  in  amazement,  and  from  it 
proceeded  a  strange,  hissing  sound. 

"  F— f— axh! '' 

Then  Ignat's  head  dropped  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  cum- 
brous body  sank  slowly  from  the  arm-chair  to  the  ground, 
as  though  the  earth  were  drawing  it  imperiously  to  itself. 
For  a  few  seconds  Foma  did  not  move  or  utter  a  sound,  as 
he  gazed  at  his  father  with  terror  and  surprise;  but  then 
he  rushed  to  Ignat,  raised  his  head  from  the  ground,  and 
gazed  into  his  face.  That  face  was  dark,  motionless,  and 
the  widely  opened  eyes  had  no  expression:  either  of  pain, 
or  terror,  or  joy.  Foma  looked  about  him:  as  before,  there 
was  no  one  in  the  garden,  and  the  resonant  speech  of  the 
bells  still  floated  in  the  air.  Foma's  hands  trembled,  he  let 
go  of  his  father's  head,  and  it  struck  the  earth  with  a  dull 
blow.  Dark,  viscid  blood  flowed  in  a  slender  stream  from 
the  open  mouth  across  the  blue  cheek. 

Foma  beat  his  breast  with  his  hands,  and  kneeling  down 
before  the  corpse,  began  to  shout  wildly  and  loudly.  And 
quivering  all  over  with  fear,  he  continued,  with  crazed  eyes 
to  seek  some  one  amid  the  verdure  of  the  garden. 


118 


ly 

His  father's  death  stunned  Foma  and  filled  him  with  a 
strange  sensation:  tranquillity  poured  into  his  soul — an 
oppressive,  motionless  tranquillity,  which  unresistingly  en- 
gulfed all  the  sounds  of  life.  Divers  persons  of  his  acquaint- 
ance bustled  around  him;  they  appeared  and  disappeared, 
said  something  to  him, — and  he  answered  them  at  random, 
and  their  remarks  evoked  in  him  no  images,  but  sank  into 
the  bottomless  depths  of  the  dead  silence  which  filled  his 
soul.  He  did  not  weep,  did  not  grieve,  and  thought  of  noth- 
ing; pale,  and  gloomy,  with  knitted  brows,  he  listened  con- 
centratedly  to  this  silence,  which  expelled  from  within  him 
all  feelings,  laid  waste  his  heart,  and  grasped  his  brain 
like  a  vise.  His  consciousness  was  accessible  only  to  the 
purely-physical  sensation  of  heaviness  in  his  whole  body, 
and  most  of  all,  in  his  breast,  and  it  seemed  to  him  still 
that  twilight  had  descended,  although  the  sun  was  still 
high  in  the  heavens, — and  that  everything  on  earth  had,  in 
some  way,  grown  dark  and  sad. 

Mayakin  took  charge  of  the  funeral.  He  ran  hastily  and 
alertly  through  the  rooms,  clicking  the  heels  of  his  boots 
firmly,  shouted,  in  a  masterful  way,  at  the  servants,  slapped 
his  god-son  on  the  shoulder,  and  comforted  him: 

"  And  why  are  you  turned  to  stone,  my  lad?  Eoar,  and 
it  will  relieve  you.  Your  father  was  old — worn  out  in 
body, — Death  is  prepared  for  us  all — there's  no  escaping 
it — so  there's  no  use  of  turning  deadly  pale  before  one's 
time.    You  can't  bring  him  to  life  again  with  your  sorrow, 

119 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

and  he  does  not  need  your  grief,  for  it  is  said:  "  When  the 
soul  must  needs  be  torn  from  the  body  by  dread  angels,  it 
forgetteth  all  its  kinsfolk  and  its  acquaintance  .  ."  so 
whatever  you  do  now  is  nothing  to  him,  whether  you  laugh 
or  weep.  But  you,  a  hving  man,  must  take  heed  for  the 
living.  You'd  better  cry — that's  man's  way — 'tis  a  great 
relief  to  the  heart." 

But  these  remarks  had  no  effect  whatever,  either  upon 
Foma's  head  or  upon  his  heart. 

He  recovered  himself  on  the  day  of  the  funeral,  thanks 
to  the  persistency  of  his  god-father,  who  kept  dihgently 
trying,  in  his  own  peculiar  way,  to  rouse  his  crushed  spirit. 

The  day  of  the  funeral  was  cloudy  and  overcast.  A 
huge  mass  of  people  walked  after  Ignat  Gordyeeff's  coffin, 
like  a  long,  black  ribbon,  in  a  dense  cloud  of  dust;  in  the 
throng  gleamed  the  gold  of  the  priests'  vestments,  and  the 
dull  murmur  of  its  slow  motion  merged  with  the  solemn 
music  of  the  Bishop's  choir  of  singers.  Foma  was  shoved 
from  behind  and  from  the  sides;  he  walked  on,  seeing 
nothing  except  his  father's  gray  head,^  and  the  mournful 
chanting  found  an  echo  in  his  breast.  But  Ma)^akin,  who 
walked  beside  him,  whispered  importunately  and  unremit- 
tingly in  his  ear: 

"  See  what  a  crowd  of  people  are  following  him — thou- 
sands! The  Governor  himself  has  come  to  escort  your 
father — the  Mayor  of  the  town, — almost  the  entire  Council, 
— and  behind  you — just  turn  round!  Sofya  Ivanovna  is 
walking.    The  town  has  done  honor  to  Ignat." 

At  first  Foma  paid  no  heed  to  his  god-father's  whispers, 
but  when  the  latter  told  him  about  Madame  Medynsky, 
he  involuntarily  glanced  back  and  beheld  the  Governor. 

'  In  Russia,  the  coffins  (in  accordance  with  ancient  custom)  are  car- 
ried open,  the  lid  being  borne  after  them, — Translator. 

120 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

A  tiny  little  drop  of  some  agreeable  sensation  trickled  into 
his  soul  at  the  sight  of  that  great  man,  with  the  gay  ribbon 
of  some  Order  over  his  shoulder,  with  Orders  on  his  breast, 
walking  behind  the  coffin,  with  grief  depicted  on  his  stern 
countenance. 

"  Blessed  is  the  way  which  today  thou  treadest,  0  soul  "  ^ 
chimed  in  Yakoff  Tarasovitch,  wagging  his  nose,  and  began 
again  to  whisper  in  the  ear  of  his  god-son:  "  Seventy-five 
thousand  rubles — 'tis  a  sum  for  which  one  has  a  right  to 
demand  so  many  mourners.  Have  you  heard  that  Sonka 
has  appointed  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  for  the  fif- 
teenth? That  will  be  precisely  the  fortieth  day  after  his 
death."  ^ 

Again  Foma  turned  round,  and  his  eyes  encountered  the 
eyes  of  Madame  Medynsky.  He  sighed  deeply  at  her 
caressing  glance,  and  immediately  felt  better,  as  though 
a  burning  ray  of  light  had  penetrated  his  soul,  and  some- 
thing had  thawed  there.  And  he  immediately  reflected  that 
it  was  not  proper  for  him  to  turn  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

In  the  church,  Foma's  head  began  to  ache,  and  it  began 
to  seem  to  him  as  though  everything  around  him  and  be- 
neath him  were  rocking.  In  the  stifling  air,  laden  with 
dust,  the  breaths  of  the  people,  and  the  smoke  of  the  in- 
cense, the  tiny  flames  of  the  candles  quivered  timidly.  The 
mild  face  of  the  Christ  gazed  down  upon  him  from  the  great 
holy  image,  and  the  flames  of  the  tapers,  reflected  in  the 
dull  gold  of  the  crown  above  the  Saviour's  brow,  were  sug- 
gestive of  drops  of  blood. 

Foma's  awakened  soul  eagerly  drank  in  the  solemnly- 

^  One  of  the  Funeral  Chants. — Translator. 

'  The  ninth,  twentieth  and  fortieth  days  after  death  are  specially 
observed  as  important,  with  requiem  services,  in  the  Russian  Church. 
— Translator, 

121 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

gloomy  poetry  of  the  Liturgy,  and  when  the  touching  sum- 
mons rang  out:  "  Come,  let  us  bestow  the  last  kiss,"  there 
burst  forth  from  Foma's  breast  such  a  tremendous,  wailing 
8ob,  that  the  throng  in  the  church  surged  in  agitation  with 
this  cry. 

As  he  cried  out,  he  reeled  as  he  stood.  His  god-father 
instantly  grasped  him  under  the  arms,  and  began  to  push 
him  forward  to  the  coffin,  chanting  in  a  tolerably  loud 
tone,  and  with  a  certain  zeal: 

"  ^  Ki-i-iss  him  that  was  but  lately  with  u-us '  .  .  .  kiss 
him,  Foma,  kiss  him!  .  .  .  *for  he  is  committed  to  the 
to-omb,  he  is  covered  with  a  sto-one — he  taketh  up  his 
abo-ode  in  the  darkness,  he  is  buried  with  the  dead.' ''  ^ 

Foma  touched  his  lips  to  his  father's  brow,  and  sprang 
back  from  the  coffin  in  terror. 

"Be  careful!  You  came  near  knocking  me  down," 
Mayakin  said  to  him,  in  a  low  tone,  and  these  simple,  com- 
posed words,  afforded  Foma  a  firmer  support  than  the  arm 
of  his  god-father. 

"  Behold  me  lying  voiceless  and  without  breath,  weep  for 
me,  my  brethren  and  my  friends,"  entreated  Ignat,  by  the 
voice  of  the  Church.  But  his  son  was  no  longer  weeping: 
his  father's  black,  swollen  face  had  bred  terror  in  him,  and 
this  terror,  in  some  degree,  sobered  his  spirit,  intoxicated 
with  the  Church's  melancholy  music  of  mourning  for  her 
sinful  son.  Acquaintances  gathered  round  him,  impres- 
sively and  caressingly  comforting  him:  he  heard  them,  and 
understood  that  all  of  them  were  sorry  for  him,  and  that 
he  had  become  dear  to  all  of  them.  But  his  god-father 
whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Observe  how  they  are  making  up  to  you  .  .  the  cats 
smell  out  the  tallow    .    ." 

*  Part  of  the  Funeral  Chants. — Translator, 
132 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

These  words  displeased  Foma,  but  were  of  service  to  him, 
in  that  they  forced  him  to  reply  to  them  in  one  way  or 
another. 

At  the  cemetery,  while  the  "  Eternal  Memory! "  was 
being  sung,  he  again  burst  into  loud  and  bitter  weeping. 
His  god-father  immediately  grasped  him  by  the  arm,  and 
led  him  away  from  the  grave,  saying  to  him,  with  anger: 

"  Oh,  what  a  poor-spirited  fellow  you  are,  my  boy!  Am 
not  I  sorry  also  ?  For  I  knew  his  real  worth,  but  you  were 
merely  his  son.  But  see,  I'm  not  weeping.  We  lived  to- 
gether, on  the  most  intimate  terms,  for  over  thirty  years, — 
and  how  much  we  said,  how  much  we  thought  .  .  how 
much  grief  we  quaffed  together! — You're  young,  why 
should  you  mourn?  You  have  the  whole  of  your  life  be- 
fore you,  and  you'll  be  rich  in  every  sort  of  friendship.  But 
I  am  old, — and  they  have  buried  my  one  friend,  and  I  am 
become  like  a  pauper — I  can  never  win  another  friend  after 
my  own  heart! " 

The  old  man's  voice  quivered  strangely,  and  squeaked. 
His  face  writhed,  his  lips  expanded  in  a  huge  grimace,  and 
trembled,  his  wrinkles  flowed  together,  and  down  them, 
from  his  little  eyes,  small  tears  ran,  thick  and  fast.  He  was 
so  touchingly  pitiful  and  unlike  himself,  that  Foma  halted, 
pressed  him  to  his  bosom  with  the  tenderness  of  a  strong 
man,  and  cried,  in  agitation: 

"  Don't  cry,  little  papa — my  darling!    Don't  cry." 

"It's  over  now!"  ejaculated  Mayakin  weakly,  and  with 
a  heavy  sigh,  he  became  suddenly  converted  once  more  into 
a  firm,  clever  old  man. 

"You  mustn't  break  down  today  like  a  weakling,"  he 
said  privately,  as  he  seated  himself  beside  his  god-son  in 
the  calash. — "  You're  the  leader  of  an  army  in  battle,  now, 
and  you  must  command  your  soldiers  bravely.    And  your 

123 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

soldiers  are — ^rubles,  and  you  have  a  va-ast  army  of  them. 
Mind  that  you  fight!  '* 

Foma,  amazed  at  the  swiftness  of  his  transformation,  lis- 
tened to  his  words,  and,  for  some  reason  or  other,  they  re- 
minded him  of  the  thuds  of  the  clods  of  earth  which  the 
people  had  thrown  into  Ignat's  grave,  upon  his  cofiin. 

"  With  whom  am  I  to  fight?  "  said  Foma,  sighing. 

"  ni  soon  teach  you!  Didn't  your  father  tell  you  that 
I'm  a  clever  old  man,  and  that  you  were  to  heed  my  words?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Then  do  it!  If  we  combine  my  wisdom  with  your 
young  powers,  we  shall  be  able  to  win  a  fine  victory.  Your 
father  was  a  great  man  .  .  but  he  did  not  look  far  ahead, 
and  he  did  not  understand  how  to  heed  me.  And  in  his 
life  he  won  success  not  by  his  brain,  but,  rather  through  his 
heart.  Okh!  something  can  be  made  of  you.  Do  you  move 
over  to  my  house,  or  you'll  find  it  painful  alone  in  your 
house." 

"  My  aunt  is  there." 

"  Your  aunt — is  an  invalid;   she  will  not  live  long." 

"  Don't  speak  of  that,"  entreated  Foma  softly. 

"Yes,  I  will  speak  of  it.  You  need  have  no  fear  of 
death — you're  not  an  old  woman  dying  on  the  oven.  Do 
you  live  without  fear,  and  do  what  you  were  appointed  to 
do.  And  a  man  is  appointed  to  organize  life  on  the  earth. 
A  man  is  capital;  like  a  ruble,  he  is  made  up  of  trumpery 
copper  coins  and  kopeks.  From  the  dust  of  the  earth,  as  it 
is  written. — But,  in  proportion  as  he  circulates  in  life,  and 
absorbs  tallow  and  oil,  sweat  and  tears,  mind  and  soul  are 
created  in  him.  And  from  that  time  forth  he  begins  to 
grow,  both  upward  and  downward  .  .  .  and  the  first 
you  know,  he  has  a  value — one  man  two  kopeks,  another 
a  fifteen-kopek  silver  piece,  another  a  hundred  rubles — and 

124 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

sometimes  he  is  above  all  price.    He  is  put  into 
and  must  earn  interest  for  life.     Life  teaches 
value,  and  it  will  not  call  us  out  of  circulation  u. 
right  time  comes     .     .    no  one,  my  boy,  ever  acts  t». 
own  loss,  if  he  is  wise    .    .    and  life  has  amassed  a  lot  o* 
wisdom.    Are  you  listening  to  me?  '^ 

"  Yes." 

"  And  how  much  do  you  understand?  " 

"  Everything." 

"You're  talking  nonsense,  I  believe?"  said  Mayakin 
doubtfully. 

"  Only — why  must  one  die?  "  asked  Foma  softly. 

His  god-father  cast  a  compassionate  glance  at  his  face, 
smacked  his  lips,  and  said: 

"  A  wise  man  never  asks  that  question.  A  wise  man 
perceives  for  himself,  that  if  there  is  a  river,  it  flows  away 
somewhere — and  if  it  stood  still,  there  would  be  a  swamp." 

"  You  are  sneering  at  me  at  random,"  said  Foma  surlily, 
"  the  ocean  does  not  flow  away  anywhere." 

"It  receives  all  the  rivers  into  itself, — and  there  are 
mighty  hurricanes  upon  it.  Thus  the  ocean  of  life  is  fed 
by  the  emotion  of  mankind — and  death  renews  its  waters, 
that  they  may  not  become  stagnant.  If  people  did  not  die, 
they  would  become  more  and  more  numerous." 

"What  of  that?    My  father  died    .    ." 

"  And  you  will  die  also." 

"  What  concern  of  mine  is  it  that  people  increase  more 
and  more  ?  "  said  Foma,  with  a  melancholy  smile. 

"Eh-ekhe-e!"  sighed  Mayakin.     "And  whom  does  it 

not  concern. — Your  breeches  would,  certainly,  reason  in 

the  same  manner:    What  concern  is  it  of  ours  that  there  is 

as  much  cloth  on  the  earth  as  anyone  wants?     But  you 

don't  heed  them — you  wear  them  out,  and  throw  them 

away." 

125 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ed  reproachfully  at  his  god-father,  and  perceiv- 
.ne  old  man  was  smiling,  he  was  astonished  and 
ully  inquired: 
-s  it  possible,  papasha,  that  you  do  not  fear  death?  *' 

■*My  child,  I  fear  stupidity  more  than  anything  else," 
replied  Mayakin,  with  subdued  venom.  "  This  is  what  I 
think:  if  a  fool  offers  you  honey — spit  it  out;  if  a  wise 
man  offers  you  poison — drink  it!  I'll  tell  you  what:  the 
perch  is  a  weak-spirited  fish,  if  his  bristles  don't  stand  up- 
right/' 

The  old  man's  jeering  words  offended  and  enraged  Foma. 
He  turned  aside,  and  said: 

"  Can't  you  speak  without  all  these  subterfuges?  " 

"No,  I  can't! "  exclaimed  Mayakin,  and  his  eyes  flashed 
alarmingly.  "  Every  man  expresses  himself  in  the  language 
which  he  can  command.    Do  I  appear  harsh?    What  of  it?  " 

Foma  made  no  reply. 

"  Oh  bother  you!  See  here,  you  must  know  that  he 
who  loves  instructs.  And  as  for  death,  don't  think  of  it 
.  .  'tis  foolish,  my  boy,  for  a  living  man  to  think  of  death. 
^  Ecclesiastes '  thought  better  than  anyone  else  concern- 
ing it, — ^he  thought  and  said  that  even  a  live  dog  is  better 
than  a  dead  lion." 

They  reached  home.  The  whole  street  in  front  of  the 
house  was  blocked  with  carriages,  and  loud  conversation 
was  wafted  on  the  air  from  the  open  windows.  As  soon  as 
Foma  made  his  appearance  in  the  hall,  he  was  seized  by 
the  arms  and  dragged  to  the  table  where  the  viands  of  the 
appetizer  were  set  out,  and  was  urged  to  eat  and  drink 
something.  It  was  as  noisy  in  the  hall  as  though  it  had 
been  the  bazaar;  it  was  crowded  and  stifling.  Foma  silently 
drank  off  one  glass  of  vodka,  a  second,  and  a  third.  xA.ll 
around  him  people  were  chewing  and  smacking  their  lips 

126 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

and  vodka  was  gurgling,  as  it  was  poured  from  the  bottle, 
and  the  glasses  clinked.  They  were  chatting  about  dried 
sturgeon's  back,  and  the  bass  voice  of  the  soloist  in  the 
Bishop's  choir,  and  then  again  about  dried  sturgeon's  back, 
and  that  the  mayor  of  the  town  wanted  to  make  a  speech, 
but  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  it,  after  the  Bishop,  for 
fear  he  might  not  speak  as  well  as  the  latter.  Someone 
narrated  with  emotion: 

"  This  is  what  the  deceased  used  to  do:  he  would  cut  off 
a  slice  of  salmon,  pepper  it  thickly,  cover  it  with  another 
slice,  and  send  it  down  after  a  glass  of  liquor." 

"  Le-et's  follow  his  example,"  roared  a  heavy  bass  voice. 

Foma,  frowning,  with  rage  in  his  heart,  stared  at  the  fat 
lips  and  jaws  which  w^ere  chewing  the  savory  viands,  and 
he  wanted  to  shriek  aloud,  and  drive  out  all  those  people 
whose  solidity  had  so  recently  aroused  his  respect  for  them. 

"Be  more  affable — more  talkative,"  said  Mayakin,  in  a 
low  voice,  appearing  beside  him. 

"Why  are  they  gobbling  here?  Have  they  come  to  an 
eating-house,  I'd  like  to  know?"  said  Foma  loudly  and 
wrathfully. 

"  Husssssh !  "  said  Mayakin,  in  terror,  and  swiftly  glanced 
about  with  an  amiable  smile  on  his  face. 

But  it  was  too  late:  his  smile  did  not  help  matters. 
Foma's  words  had  been  heard, — the  uproar  and  chatter  in 
the  hall  began  to  decrease,  some  of  the  guests  bustled 
about  in  a  rather  hurried  w^ay,  others,  frowning  angrily,  laid 
down  their  knives  and  forks,  and  quitted  the  table  with  the 
appetizer,  and  all  gazed  askance  at  Foma. 

Angry  and  silent,  he  met  their  glances,  without  lowering 
his  eyes. 

"  Pray  come  to  the  table ! "  shouted  Mayakin,  flitting 
through  the  throng  of  people  like  a  spark  through  ashes. — 

127 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Please  sit  down!  The  pancakes  will  be  served  immedi- 
ately." 

Foma  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  to  the  door,  re- 
marking loudly: 

"  I'm  not  going  to  eat  any  dinner." 

He  heard  a  disagreeable  murmur  behind  him,  and  the 
insinuating  voice  of  his  god-father  saying  to  someone: 

"It's  his  gri^f — you  know  that  Ignat  was  father  and 
mother  both  to  him." 

Foma  went  into  the  garden,  to  the  spot  where  his  father 
had  died,  and  sat  down  there.  A  feeling  of  loneliness  and 
Borrow  oppressed  his  breast.  He  unbuttoned  his  shirt- 
collar,  in  order  to  ease  his  breathing,  set  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  and  clutching  his  head  in  his  hands,  became  motion- 
less as  a  statue.  A  fine  rain  was  drizzling  down,  and  the 
leaves  of  the  apple-tree  rustled  in  a  melancholy  way  under 
the  drip  of  the  rain.  He  sat  a  long  time  thus  alone,  with- 
out moving,  watching  the  fine  rain-drops  fall  from  the 
apple-tree  upon  the  table.  There  was  a  roaring  in  his  head, 
produced  by  the  vodka  he  had  drunk,  and  his  heart  imbibed 
anger  at  mankind.  Undefined,  impersonal  feelings  and 
thoughts  sprang  up  within  him,  and  vanished;  before  him 
flittel  the  bare  skull  of  his  god-father,  in  its  wreath  of 
silver  hair,  and  with  a  dark  face,  like  the  faces  of  ancient 
holy  pictures.  This  face,  with  its  toothless  mouth,  and 
viper-like  smile,  which  evoked  in  Foma  disgust  and  fear, 
still  further  increased  his  consciousness  of  loneliness.  Then 
he  recalled  Madame  Medynsky's  gentle  eyes,  her  tiny,  well- 
proportioned  figure,  and  alongside  her,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  stood  the  robust,  tall,  rosy  Liuboff  Mayakin,  with 
laughing  eyes,  and  a  huge  braid  of  ruddy-gold  hair. — "  Do 
not  trust  people — don't  expect  much  of  them,"  his  father's 
words  rang  through  his  memory.     He  sighed  mournfully, 

128 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

and  looked  about  him.  The  leaves  on  the  trees  were  flut- 
tering under  the  rain,  and  the  air  was  full  of  sad  sounds. 
The  gray  sky  seemed  to  be  weeping,  and  cold  tears  trembled 
on  the  trees.  But  Foma's  soul  was  dark  and  dry;  a  pain- 
ful sensation  of  orphanhood  filled  it.  But  this  feeling  gave 
birth  to  the  question: 

"  How  am  I  to  live  ?    I'm  alone  now." 

The  rain  had  soaked  his  clothing,  and  he  felt  a  shiver 
of  cold,  rose,  and  went  to  the  house. 

Life  tugged  at  him  on  all  sides,  giving  him  no  oppor- 
tunity to  concentrate  his  attention  on  his  meditations  and 
grief  for  his  father,  and  on  the  fortieth  day  after  Ignat's 
death,  he  went  to  the  ceremony  of  laying  the  corner-stone 
of  the  night  lodging-house,  in  full  dress,  and  with  an  agree- 
able sensation  in  his  breast.  On  the  preceding  day,  Madame 
MedJ'nsky  had  informed  him,  by  letter,  that  he  had  been 
elected  a  member  of  the  building  committee,  and  an  hon- 
orary member  of  the  society  over  which  she  presided.  This 
gratified  him,  and  he  was  greatly  agitated  by  the  part  which 
he  must  play  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  that  day.  As 
he  drove,  he  thought  over  how  it  would  all  be,  and  how  he 
ought  to  behave,  in  order  not  to  be  abashed  before  the 
people. 

"Hey,  hey!    Pull  up!" 

He  glanced  round, — Mayakin  ran  quickly  to  him  from 
the  sidewalk,  clad  in  a  frock-coat  which  reached  to  his  heels, 
and  a  tall  cap,  and  with  a  huge  umbrella  under  his  arm. 

"  Come,  give  me  a  lift,"  said  the  old  man,  springing  into 
the  carriage  with  the  agility  of  a  monkey. — "  I  confess  that 
I  have  been  lying  in  wait  for  you,  I  kept  on  the  watch; 
*  'tis  time  for  him  to  drive  past,'  I  said  to  myself." 

"  Are  you  going  there?  "  inquired  Foma. 

"  Of  course.     I  must  see  how  they  bury  my  friend's 

money  in  the  earth." 

129 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Fomd  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him,  and  said  nothing. 

"What  are  you  squinting  at  me  for?  Never  fear,  you'll 
turn  out  a  benefactor  of  the  people  also." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  asked  Foma  warily. 

"I  read  in  the  newspaper  today,  that  you  have  been 
elected  a  member  of  the  committee  for  that  house,  and  also 
to  Sofya's  society,  as  an  honorary  member    .    ." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  elected/' 

"  That  membership  will  gnaw  into  your  pocket!  "  sighed 
Mayakin. 

"  I  shall  not  ruin  myself,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  old  man  spitefully. 
"  The  more  so,  as  this  philanthropic  business  isn't  very 
wise  .  .  and  even,  as  I  say,  this  isn't  business,  but  mere 
harmful  nonsense." 

"  It  is  harmful  to  help  people?  "  asked  Foma  with  vexa- 
tion. 

"  Oh  you  head  of  the  garden — that  is  to  say,  you  cabbage- 
head!  "  said  Mayakin  with  a  smile.  "  You  just  come  to  my 
house,  and  I'll  open  your  eyes  for  you  as  to  this  whole 
matter — I'll  give  you  a  lesson!    Will  you  come?  " 

"  Very  well,"  assented  Foma. 

"Well,  then  .  .  .  And,  in  the  meanwhile,  conduct 
yourself  haughtily  at  this  laying  of  the  corner-stone — stand 
out  in  full  sight  of  everybody.  Don't  let  them  say  of  you 
that  you  are  hiding  yourself  behind  anyone's  back." 

"  Why  should  I  hide  myself  ?  "  said  Foma,  involuntarily. 

"  I'll  tell  you  why:  for  no  reason  at  all.  For  the  money 
was  given  by  your  father,  and  the  esteem  should  descend 
to  the  heir.  Esteem  is  the  same  as  money  .  .  with 
esteem  a  merchant  finds  credit  everywhere — and  the  way 
is  everywhere  open  to  h>m.  Do  you  step  up  to  the  front, 
80  that  everyone  may  Fee  you,  and  so  that  if  you  have  con- 

130 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

tributed  a  five-kop^k  bit,  they  may  reward  you  with  a  ruble. 
But  you^ll  hide  yourself — you'll  perpetrate  some  folly  or 
other." 

They  arrived  at  the  spot  when  all  the  important  per- 
sonages were  already  assembled,  and  a  vast  throng  of  peo- 
ple already  surrounded  the  piles  of  lumber,  bricks,  and 
earth.  The  Bishop,  the  Governor,  and  the  representa- 
tives of  the  local  aristocracy,  and  administration,  formed, 
together  with  the  elegantly  attired  ladies,  a  brilliant 
group,  who  were  gazing  at  a  couple  of  stone-masons,  en- 
gaged in  preparing  bricks  and  mortar.  Mayakin  and  his 
god-son  directed  their  steps  toward  this  group,  and  the 
former  whispered  to  Foma : 

"  Don't  get  shy.  They've  robbed  their  bellies  to  cover 
their  backs." 

And  respectfully,  in  a  merry  tone,  he  greeted  the  Gov- 
ernor before  the  Bishop. 

"  Good-morning,  your  Excellency !  Your  blessing,  yonr 
Right  Reverence ! " 

"  Ah,  Yakoff  Tarasovitch !  "  exclaimed  the  Governor  in 
a  friendly  tone,  pressing  Mayakin's  hand  with  a  smile  and 
shaking  it  as  the  old  man  kissed  the  Bishop's  hand. 
"  How  are  you,  you  immortal  old  man  ?  " 

"  My  humble  thanks,  your  Excellency !  My  most  pro- 
found respects  to  Sofya  Pavlovna ! "  said  Mayakin  hasti- 
ly, winding  like  a  wolf  through  the  throng  of  people.  In 
a  minute  he  had  managed  to  salute  the  representatives  of 
the  courts,  and  the  procurator,  and  the  Mayor — everyone 
whom  he  considered  it  necessary  to  greet  first;  but  there 
were  not  many  such.  He  jested  and  smiled,  and  instantly 
attracted  the  attention  of  all  to  his  tiny  figure,  but  Foma 
stood  behind  him,  with  drooping  head,  casting  sidelong 
glances  at  these  people  embroidered  with  gold  and  garbed 

131 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

in  costly  materials;  he  envied  his  god-father's  holdness, 
and  grew  shy,  and  was  conscious  that  he  did  so, — and  so 
grew  still  more  shy.  But  now  his  god-father  grasped  him 
by  the  hand,  and  dragged  him  along. 

"  Here,  your  Excellency,  this  is  my  god-son,  Fomd,  the 
only  son  of  the  late  Ignat.^' 

"  A-ah !  "  said  the  Governor  in  a  deep  bass  voice.  "  De- 
lighted. I  sympathize  with  your  grief,  young  man ! "  he 
said,  as  he  pressed  Foma's  hand,  and  stopped  short;  then 
he  added,  confidently  and  decisively :  "  It  is  a  very  great 
misfortune  to  lose  a  father." 

And,  after  waiting  a  couple  of  seconds  for  Foma's  reply, 
he  turned  away  from  him,  saying  approvingly  to  Mayakin : 

"  I  am  enraptured  over  your  speech  in  the  council  yes- 
terday! It  was  fine,  clever,  Ydkoff  Tarasovitch — in  pro- 
posing to  expend  money  on  that  People's  Club,  they  do 
not  comprehend  the  real  needs  of  the  population." 

"  And  then,  your  Excellency,  the  capital  is  extremely 
small — which  means  that  the  town  would  be  obliged  to 
add  to  it." 

"Quite  true ^    Quite  true!" 

"  Temperance  is  a  good  thing,  say  I !  God  grant  it  to 
everyone.  I  do  not  drink,  myself — but  why  these  plays, 
reading-rooms,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  if  the  people 
don't  know  how  to  read  ?  " 

The  Governor  bellowed  approvingly. 

"  And  so,  I  say,  do  you  take  this  money  and  apply  it  to 
technical  education.  .  If  we  establish  that  on  a  small 
scale,  this  money  in  hand  will  suffice,  and,  on  occasion, 
we  can  ask  for  more  from  St.  Petersburg, — and  they  will 
give  it  to  us.  Then  the  town  will  not  have  to  contribute 
any  of  its  own,  and  it  will  be  a  more  sensible  piece  of  busi- 


ness." 


13d 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"  Exactly  so !  And  I  entirely  agree  with  you !  But  how 
the  liberals  did  shout  at  you,  didn^t  they  ?     Ha,  ha !  " . 

"  That's  all  they're  good  for,  to  shout." 

The  deep  cough  of  the  proto-deacon  of  the  Cathedral 
announced  the  beginning  of  the  religious  service. 

Sofya  Pavlovna  stepped  up  to  Foma,  greeted  him,  and 
said  to  him,  in  a  soft,  sad  voice : 

"  I  watched  your  face  on  the  day  of  the  funeral,  and 
my  heart  ached.  '  Heavens,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  how  he 
must  be  suffering ! '  " 

And  Foma  listened  to  her — and  it  was  like  honey  to 
him. 

"  Those  cries  of  yours !  They  shook  my  very  soul. — My 
poor  boy !  I  can  address  you  thus,  because  I  am  quite  an 
old  woman." 

"  You !  "  exclaimed  Foma  softly. 

"  Am  I  not  ?  "  she  asked,  gazing  ingenuously  into  his 
face. 

Fomd  made  no  reply,  but  dropped  his  head. 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  I  am  an  old  woman  ?  " 

"  I  do  believe  you — that  is,  I  believe  everything  you 
eay — only,  that  is  not  true! "  said  Foma,  in  a  low,  fervent 
tone. 

''  What  is  not  true  ?    That  you  believe  me  ?  " 

"No!  not  that,  but  that — I — forgive  me!  I  do  not 
know  how  to  express  myself!  "  said  Foma  sadly,  crimsoning 
all  over  with  confusion. — "  I'm  not  cultured." 

"There's  no  need  to  feel  troubled  over  that,"  said 
Madame  Medynsky  in  a  protecting  way.  "  You  are  young 
yet,  and  culture  is  accessible  to  everyone.  But  there  are 
people  who  not  only  do  not  need  it,  but  whom  it  is  liable 
to  spoil.  .  They  are  men  who  have  pure  hearts,  who 
are  confiding,  sincere  as  children, — and  you  are  one  of 
those  people.     You  are,  aren't  you  ?  " 

133 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

What  reply  could  Foma  make  to  such  a  question  ?  He 
said  sincerely: 

"  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you !  " 

And  perceiving  that  his  words  had  called  forth  a  merry 
gleam  in  Madame  Medynsky's  eyes,  he  felt  that  he  was 
ridiculous  and  silly,  and  immediately  waxed  wroth  at  him- 
self, and  said,  in  a  suppressed  voice : 

"  Yes,  I  am  one  of  those  people — whatever  is  in  my  soul, 
drops  off  my  tongue.  I  do  not  know  how  to  pretend — if 
I  find  a  thing  ridiculous,  I  laugh  openly.     I'm  stupid !  " 

"  Well,  and  why  are  you  so  ?  '^  said  the  woman  softly ; 
and  as  she  adjusted  her  gown,  with  her  lowered  hand  she 
accidentally  stroked  the  hand  in  which  he  held  his  hat, 
which  caused  Foma  to  glance  at  his  wrist,  and  smile  con- 
fusedly but  joyfully. 

"  Of  course  you  will  be  at  the  dinner  ? "  inquired 
Madame  Medynsky. 

"  Yes.'' 

"  And  to-morrow  you  are  coming  to  the  meeting  at  my 
house  ?  '^ 

"Without  fail!'' 

"  And,  perhaps,  some  day,  you  will  just  drop  in,  quite 
simply,  to  call  ?  " 

"  I — thank  you !     I  will  come !  " 

"  I  must  thank  you  for  that  promise." 

They  became  silent.  The  soft,  reverent  voice  of  the 
Bishop  floated  on  the  air,  as  he  expressively  recited  a 
prayer,  with  his  hand  outstretched  over  the  place  where 
the  corner-stone  was  to  be  laid. 

"  Let  neither  wind,  nor  water,  nor  any  other  thing  be 
able  to  injure  it:  be  graciously  pleased  to  bring  it  to  a 
conclusion,  and  free  them  that  shall  dwell  therein  from 
every  assault  of  the  enemy.     .'' 

134 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  How  rich  in  contents  and  how  beautiful  our  prayers 
are,  are  they  not?  "  asked  Madame  Medynsky. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Fomd  briefly,  not  understanding  her 
words,  and  conscious  that  he  was  blushing  again. 

"  They  will  always  be  the  adversaries  of  our  mercantile 
interests,"  whispered  Mayakin  loudly  and  with  conviction, 
as  he  stood  not  far  from  Foma,  beside  the  Mayor  of  the 
town.  "  What  is  it  they  want  ?  All  they  want  is  some- 
thing wherewith  they  may  win  the  approbation  of  the 
newspapers  .  .  but  they  can't  attain  to  any  real  sub- 
stance. .  They  live  for  show,  and  not  to  organize  life — 
and  these  are  their  measures :  the  newspapers  and  Switzer- 
land! There  was  the  doctor  yesterday — he  sneered  at 
me  the  whole  time  with  that  Switzerland :  '  there's  popu- 
lar education  in  Switzerland,'  said  he,  *  and  everything 
else  there  is  first-class ! '  But  what's  that  Switzerland, 
anyway?  Perhaps  Switzerland  is  an  invention,  to  quote 
as  an  example, — and  there's  no  education  or  any  of  the 
other  various  things  in  it  at  all!  And  then,  again,  we 
don't  live  for  it,  and  it  can't  conduct  our  examinations — • 
we  must  make  our  life  on  our  own  last.     Isn't  that  so  ?  " 

And  the  proto-deacon,  throwing  back  his  head,  roared : 

"  To  the  f o-ounder  of  the  ho-ouse,  e-eter-nal  me-em- 
ory!" 

Foma  shuddered,  but  Mayakin  was  already  by  his  side, 
and  grasping  his  arms,  inquired: 

**  Are  you  going  to  the  dinner  ?  " 

And  Madame  Medynsky's  warm,  velvet-soft  Httle  hand 
again  slipped  along  Foma's  hand. 

The  dinner  was  genuine  torture  for  Foma.  Finding 
himself,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  among  such  gor- 
geous people,  he  perceived  that  they  ate,  and  talked,  and 
did  everything  better  than  he  did,  and  he  felt  that  he  was 

135 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

separated  from  Madame  Med^nsky,  who  sat  directly  oppo- 
site him,  not  by  the  table  but  by  a  lofty  mountain.  Beside 
him  sat  the  secretary  of  the  society  of  which  Foma  had 
been  elected  an  honorary  member, — a  young  official  of  the 
law  courts,  who  bore  the  peculiar  surname  of  Ukhtish- 
tcheff.  As  though  with  the  specific  object  of  making  his 
surname  seem  even  more  clumsy  than  it  already  was,  he 
talked  in  a  high,  resonant  tenor  voice,  and  altogether — 
the  plump,  small,  chubby-faced  and  jolly  chatterer  re- 
sembled a  brand-new  sleigh-bell. 

"  The  best  thing  about  our  society  is,  its  patroness;  the 
most  sensible  thing  we  occupy  ourselves  with,  in  it,  is  mak- 
ing love  to  the  patroness;  the  most  difficult  thing  is  to 
pay  the  patroness  a  compliment  which  satisfies  her;  and 
the  wisest  thing  is  to  go  into  silent,  hopeless  raptures  over 
the  patroness.  So,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  you  are  an  hono- 
rary member  not  '  of  the  Society  for,'  and  so  forth,  but  a 
member  of  the  Society  of  Tantaluses,  comprised  of  Sofya 
Medynsky's  flatterers." 

Foma  listened  to  his  chatter,  gazed  at  the  patroness, 
who  was  anxiously  discussing  something  with  the  Chief  of 
Police,  grunted,  by  way  of  answer  to  his  companion,  feign- 
ing to  be  occupied  in  eating,  and  wished  that  the  whole 
thing  might  come  to  an  end  as  speedily  as  possible.  He 
felt  that  he  was  a  pitiful,  stupid,  ridiculous  object  to  all 
of  them,  and  he  was  convinced  that  they  were  all  watch- 
ing him,  and  condemning  him.  This  fettered  him  with 
invisible  shackles,  which  permitted  him  neither  to  speak 
nor  to  think.  At  last  he  reached  the  point  where  the 
line  of  various  physiognomies  extending  down  the  table 
opposite  him,  began  to  seem  to  him  a  long,  wavy,  white 
streak,  with  jeering  eyes  punched  in  it,  and  all  those  eyes 
pierced  him  in  a  tormentingly  disagreeable  manner. 

136 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

But  Mayakin  sat  beside  the  Mayor  of  the  town,  waved 
his  fork  rapidly  in  the  air,  and  kept  saying  something  to 
him,  his  wrinkles  shifting  and  changing  the  while.  The 
Mayor,  a  gray-haired,  red-faced  man,  with  a  short  neck, 
stared  at  him  like  a  bull  with  stubborn  attention,  and 
occasionally  tapped  the  edge  of  the  table  with  his  thumb, 
in  token  of  assent.  The  animated  conversation  and 
laughter  drowned  his  god-father's  emphatic  remarks,  and 
Foma  could  not  catch  a  word  of  them;  the  more  so,  as  the 
light  tenor  voice  of  the  secretary  rang  incessantly  in  his 
ears  the  whole  time: 

"  Look !  the  proto-deacon  has  risen  to  his  feet,  and  is 
charging  his  lungs  with  air.  .  .  Pretty  soon  he  will 
proclaim  '  Eternal  Memory  ^  to  Ignat  Matvyeevitch.^' 

"  Can't  I  go  away  ?  "  asked  Foma  softly. 

"  Why  not  ?     Everyone  will  understand." 

The  deacon^s  ringing  exclamation  overpowered  and 
seemed  to  crush  the  uproar  in  the  hall ;  the  distinguished 
merchants  stared  in  rapture  at  the  widely-opened  mouth, 
from  which  poured  forth  the  heavy  bass  voice,  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  opportunity,  Foma  rose  from  the  table 
and  quitted  the  hall. 

A  moment  later,  breathing  freely  once  more,  he  had 
seated  himself  in  his  calash,  and  was  anxiously  reflecting 
that  the  society  of  those  gentlemen  and  ladies  was  no 
place  for  him.  To  himself  he  called  them  smooth-licked; 
their  brilliancy  did  not  please  him ;  he  disliked  their  faces, 
their  smiles,  their  words;  but  the  freedom  and  ease  of 
their  movements,  their  power  of  talking  about  everything, 
and,  lastly,  their  handsome  costumes, — all  these  things 
aroused  in  him  a  mixture  of  envy  and  respect  for  them. 
He  felt  injured  and  sad  that  he  could  not  talk  so  easily 
and  so  much  as  all  these  people  did,  and  then  he  recol- 

137 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

lected  that  Liiiba  Mayakin  had  made  fun  of  him  more 
than  once,  for  that  ver}^  thing. 

Foma  did  not  like  Mayakin's  daughter,  and  after  he 
learned  from  Ignat  of  his  god-father's  intention  to  marry 
him  to  Liiiba,  young  Gordyeeff  began  to  avoid  even  meet- 
ing her.  But  after  his  father's  death,  he  was  at  the  Maya- 
kins'  house  nearly  every  day,  and  on  one  occasion  Liiiba 
said  to  him : 

"I  am  looking  you  over,  and  do  you  know  what? 
— ^You're  as  unlike  a  merchant  as  possible." 

"  And  you're  very  unlike  a  merchant's  wife,"  said 
Foma,  staring  suspiciously  at  her. 

He  did  not  comprehend  the  significance  of  her  words: 
whether  she  intended  them  as  an  insult,  or  had  simply 
littered  them  without  any  ulterior  meaning. 

"  Thank  heaven !  "  she  answered  him,  with  such  a  nice, 
friendly  smile. 

"  Why  are  you  glad  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That  we  are  not  like  our  parents." 

Foma  gazed  at  her  in  amazement,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Tell  me  frankly,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice,  "  you 
don't  like  my  father,  do  you?    He  displeases  you?" 

"  Not — so  very  much,"  said  Fomd  slowly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  him  at  all." 

"Why?" 

"  For  every  sort  of  reason.  When  you  grow  wiser,  you'll 
understand  for  yourself,  without  being  told.  Your  father 
was  nicer." 

"  Of  course !  "  said  Fomd  proudly. 

After  this  conversation,  a  mutual  attraction  sprang  up 
almost  immediately  between  them,  and,  increasing  day 
by  day,  it  soon  assumed  the  character  of  friendship, 
though  of  rather  a  strange  friendship. 

138 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Liiiba  was  of  the  same  age  as  her  god-brother,  but  bore 
herself  toward  him  like  an  older  sister  to  a  boy.  She 
spoke  condescendingly,  often  made  fun  of  him,  and  words 
which  were  unknown  to  Foma  constantly  made  their  ap- 
pearance in  her  speech,  and  she  pronounced  them  with  a 
certain  special  emphasis,  and  with  evident  satisfaction. 
She  was  particularly  fond  of  talking  about  her  brother 
Taras,  whom  she  had  never  seen,  but  concerning  whom 
she  was  wont  to  relate  a  tale  which  made  him  resemble 
Aunt  Anfisa's  brave  and  noble-minded  bandits.  Often, 
when  complaining  of  her  father,  she  said  to  Foma : 

"  And  you'll  be  just  such  another  skinflint.^' 

All  this  displeased  the  young  man,  and  deeply  wounded 
his  vanity.  But,  at  times,  she  was  direct,  simple,  with 
a  certain  amicably  caressing  manner  toward  him;  at  such 
times  he  opened  his  heart  to  her,  and  they  displayed  to 
each  other,  at  considerable  length,  their  thoughts  and 
feelings. 

Both  talked  a  great  deal,  and  frankly — and  neither 
understood  the  other:  it  seemed  to  Foma  that  every- 
thing Liuba  talked  about  was  foreign  to  him,  and  unneces- 
sary to  her,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  saw  clearly,  that  his 
ignorant  remarks  did  not  interest  her  in  the  least,  and 
that  she  did  not  care  to  understand  them.  No  matter 
how  much  time  they  spent  in  this  sort  of  conversation, 
the  only  sensation  which  it  afforded  them  was  of  a  certain 
awkwardness,  and  dissatisfaction  with  each  other.  It 
seemed  as  though  an  invisible  wall  of  misunderstanding 
suddenly  started  up  between  them,  and  separated  them. 
They  could  not  make  up  their  minds  to  touch  that  wall,  to 
say  to  each  other  that  they  were  conscious  of  it,  and  they 
went  on  with  their  discussions,  feeling,  in  a  confused  way, 
that  in  each  of  them  there  existed  something  which  might 
bring  them  together  and  u^iie  them. 

139 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

On  arriving  at  his  god-father's  house,  Foma  found  Liuba 
alone.  She  came  out  to  meet  him,  and  it  was  evident  that 
she  was  either  ill  or  preoccupied:  her  eyes  flashed  uneasily, 
and  were  surrounded  by  black  rings.  Wrapping  herself, 
with  a  shiver,  in  a  small  goat's-down  shawl,  she  said  with  a 
smile : 

"  It's  a  good  thing  that  you  have  come!  I  have  been 
sitting  alone  .  .  it's  tiresome,  and  I  don't  feel  like  going 
anywhere.    Will  you  have  some  tea  ?  " 

"  Yes.    What's  the  matter  with  you?    Are  you  ill?  " 

"  Go  into  the  dining-room,  and  I  will  order  the  samovar 
to  be  prepared,"  she  said,  without  answering  his  question. 

He  entered  one  of  the  tiny  rooms  in  the  house,  with  two 
windows  opening  on  the  small  garden.  In  the  middle  of 
the  room  stood  an  oval  table,  surrounded  by  old-fashioned 
chairs  upholstered  in  leather;  on  one  of  the  partition-walls 
hung  a  clock,  in  a  long  case,  with  a  glass  door;  in  the  cor- 
ner stood  a  what-not,  filled  with  plates  and  dishes,  and 
against  the  wall  opposite  the  windows  was  an  oaken  side- 
board, of  the  dimensions  of  a  good-sized  store-room. 

"Have  you  just  come  from  the  dinner?"  asked  Liuba, 
as  she  entered. 

Foma  nodded  silently. 

"  Well,  was  it  very  gorgeous?  " 

"  Awfully!  "  laughed  Foma. — "  I  was  on  needles  and 
pins  .  .  they  were  all  like  peacocks  and  I  was  like  a 
barn-owl." 

Liiiba  took  some  cups  and  saucers  from  the  what-not, 
and  made  no  reply. 

"Why  are  you  so  bored?"  Foma  resumed,  glancing  at 
her  gloomy  countenance. 

She  turned  toward  him,  and  said  with  rapture  and  dis- 
tress: 

140 


Fomi  GordydefF 

"  Ah,  Foma!  What  a  hook  I  have  heen  reading!  If  you 
could  only  understand  it!  " 

"Evidently,  it's  a  good  hook,  if  it  has  upset  you  so," 
remarked  Foma,  laughing. 

"  I  did  not  sleep — I  read  all  night.  You  understand: 
you  read,  and  it  seems  as  though  doors  flew  open  before  you 
into  some  other  realm  .  .  The  people  are  different,  and 
their  language,  and — everything  is  different!  It's  the  whole 
of  life!    .    .    ." 

"I  don't  like  such  hooks,"  said  Foma,  in  displeasure. 
"  They're  inventions,  delusions.  There's  the  theatre  .  . 
Merchants  are  held  up  to  ridicule, — and  are  they  really  such 
fools?    The  idea!    Take  my  god-father,  for  example    .  ." 

"  The  theatre  is  the  same  as  school,  Foma,"  said  Liuba 
didactically.  "  The  merchants  used  to  be  like  that. — And 
what  delusion  can  there  be  in  books?  " 

"  The  same  as  in  the  fairy-tales    .    .    Nothing  is  real." 

"You  are  mistaken!  You  have  never  read  books, — so 
how  can  you  judge?  It  is  precisely  they  that  are  real. 
They  teach  one  to  live." 

"  Oh,  come  now!  "  and  Foma  dismissed  the  subject  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand. — "  Drop  it  .  .  .  you'll  get  no  good 
out  of  your  books!  There's  your  father — he  doesn't  read 
books,  but — isn't  he  a  clever  one!  I've  been  watching  him 
today,  and  I  envy  him.  He  knows  so  well  how  to  treat 
people, — freely,  intelligently,  he  has  a  word  for  everybody. 
You  can  see,  at  once,  that  he  will  obtain  what  he  wants." 

"What  does  he  obtain?"  cried  Liuba.  "Nothing  but 
money  .  .  And  there  are  men  who  desire  happiness  for 
everyone  on  earth — and  therefore,  never  sparing  themselves, 
they  toil  and  suffer  and  perish!  Is  it  possible  to  compart 
my  father  with  them?  " 

"  Don't  try.    Probably,  one  thing  pleases  them,  another 

thing  pleases  your  father." 

141 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Nothing  pleases  them!" 
"How  so?" 

"  They  want  to  change  everything." 
"  So  they  are  making  an  effort  for  something  or  other?  " 
retorted    Foma,    thoughtfully. — "  They    do    want    some- 
thing? " 

''^  Happiness  for  all  men!  "  cried  Liuba  warmly. 
"  Well,  I  don't  understand  that/'  said  Foma,  shaking  his 
head.  "Who's  bothering  himself  about  my  happiness? 
And  then  again,  what  happiness  can  they  arrange  for  me,  if 
I  myself  don't  yet  know  what  I  want?  Now,  see  here, — 
what  you  ought  to  do  is  to  observe  those  people  who  were 
at  the  dinner." 

"  They're  not  people! "  exclaimed  Liuba,  categorically. 
"  Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  they  are  according 
to  your  ideas,  but  one  thing  is  instantly  perceptible — that 
they  know  their  place.    They're  a  clever,  easy  set." 

"Oh,  Foma!"  cried  Liiiba  in  vexation,  "you  don't 
understand  anything!  Nothing  agitates  you!  You're  such 
an  indolent  fellow! " 

"  There  she  goes!    I  simply  haven't  looked  about  me  yet." 
"  You  simply  are — a  goose,"  declared  Liuba,  firmly  and 
decisively. 

"  You  haven't  been  inside  my  soul,"  retorted  Foma 
calmly. — "  You  don't  know  my  thoughts." 

"What  have  you  to  think  about?"  said  Liuba,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders. 

"What  indeed!  Am  I  alone?  That's  one  thing. — Have 
I  got  to  live?  That's  another.  It  isn't  possible  for  me  to 
live  in  my  present  fashion — don't  I  understand  that?  I 
don't  want  to  be  a  laughing-stock.  Why,  I  don't  even  know 
how  to  talk  to  people.  Yes — and  I  don't  know  how  to 
think,"  Foma  concluded  his  harangue,  and  laughed  in  con- 
fusion, n 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"You  must  read,  you  must  study,"  Liuba  advised  with 
conviction,  as  she  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Something  is  stirring  in  my  soul,"  went  on  Foma,  with- 
out looking  at  her,  and  as  though  talking  to  himself,  "  but 
I  cannot  understand  it.  Here  I  see  that  my  god-father  can 
talk — that's  the  whole  business — and  cleverly  .  .  But  he 
doesn't  attract  me.  Those  other  people  are  far  more  inter- 
esting to  me." 

"  The  aristocracy,  you  mean?  "  inquired  Liuba. 

"  Yes." 

"  That's  a  nice  place  for  you! "  said  Liuba,  with  a  scorn- 
ful smile. — "  Oh,  you  stupid!  They  are  not  people,  are 
they?    Have  they  souls?  " 

"What  do  you  know  about  them?  Why,  you  are  not 
even  acquainted  with  them." 

"  And  how  about  my  books?    Haven't  I  read?  " 

The  maid  brought  in  the  samovar,  and  the  conversation 
came  to  an  end.  Liiiba  brewed  the  tea  in  silence,  Foma 
watched  her,  and  thought  of  Madame  Medynsky.  He 
wanted  to  talk  with  Madame  Medynsky. 

"  Ye-es,"  the  young  girl  began  again  meditatively,  "  every 
day,  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  it  is  difficult  to 
live  .  .  What  am  I  to  do?  Marry?  Whom?  Some  petty 
merchant,  who  will  spend  his  life  in  robbing  people,  drink- 
ing, playing  cards?  An  uncultured  man?  I  will  not!  I 
want  to  be  an  individual — I  am  an  individual,  because  I 
understand  how  badly  life  is  arranged.  Study?  As  though 
my  father  would  allow  me  .  .  Good  God!  Eun  away? 
I  lack  the  courage    .    .    — What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  bowed  her  head  upon  the 
table. 

"  If  you  only  knew  how  repulsive  everything  is  .  . 
There's  not  a  living  soul  about.    Since  my  mother's  death, 

143 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

my  father  has  chased  everyone  away.  Some  have  gone  off 
to  study.  Lipa  has  gone:  She  writes:  '  Read! '  Ah,  I  do 
read!  I  do  read!  "  she  cried,  with  despair  in  her  voice,  and 
after  a  momentary  pause,  she  resumed,  sadly: 

"  The  books  do  not  contain  what  the  heart  needs — and 
there  is  much  in  them  which  I  do  not  understand  .  .  In 
short,  I  am  bored — it  bores  me  to  read  alone,  always  alone! 
I  want  to  talk  with  a  man,  and  there  is  no  man!  I  loathe  it. 
I  have  but  one  life,  and  it's  time  to  begin  to  live — but  still 
there  is  no  man,  none!  What's  the  use  of  living?  Lipa 
says:  *  Read,  you  will  understand  .  .'  I  want  bread,  and 
she  gives  me  a  stone  .  .  I  understand  what  is  necessary 
— that  one  must  defend  what  he  loves,  what  he  believes; 
he  must  contend." 

And  she  wound  up,  almost  with  a  groan: 

"  But  I  am  alone!  With  whom  am  I  to  contend?  There 
are  no  enemies — no  people!    Why,  I  live  in  a  prison!  " 

Foma  listened  to  her  speech,  staring  intently  at  her 
fingers  the  while,  and  was  conscious  of  an  immense  woe  in 
her  words,  but  he  did  not  understand  her.  And  when  she 
ceased  speaking,  crushed  and  sad,  he  could  find  nothing  to 
say  to  her,  except  words  which  were  akin  to  blame. 

"  There,  you  say  yourself  that  your  little  books  are  worth 
nothing  to  you,  and  yet  you  order  me  to  read!  " 

She  glanced  at  his  face,  and  anger  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  that  all  these  torments  would  wake  up 
within  you — the  torments  in  which  I  live  .  .  How  I 
wish  that  you,  hke  myself,  could  not  sleep  at  night  for 
thinking,  that  everything  should  disgust  you — and  that  you 
should  be  disgusting  to  yourself!  I  hate  you  all — ^I  hate 
you! " 

She  was  all  in  a  flush,  and  she  gazed  so  wrathfully  at 
him,  and  spoke  so  viciously,  that,  in  his  amazement,  he 

144 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

did  not  even  take  o5ence.  Never  yet  had  she  talked  to 
him  in  that  way. 

"  Whaf  s  the  matter  with  you?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  And  I  hate  you  too!  You — what  are  you?  A  dead 
body,  a  frivolous  man — ^how  are  you  going  to  live?  What 
will  you  give  to  mankind?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low  tone,  and 
with  apparent  malice. 

"I  shall  give  nothing,  let  them  earn  for  themselves," 
replied  Foma,  aware  that,  by  these  words,  he  should  anger 
her  still  more. 

"  You  wretched  creature!  "  cried  the  girl  disdainfully. 

The  conviction  and  power  of  her  reproaches  involun- 
tarily caused  Foma  to  listen  attentively  to  her  fierce 
speeches;  he  felt  that  there  was  some  sense  in  them.  He 
even  moved  nearer  to  her,  but  she,  indignant  and  angry, 
turned  away  from  him,  and  remained  silent. 

It  was  still  light  out  of  doors,  and  the  reflection  of  the 
sunset  still  lay  upon  the  branches  of  the  lindens  in  front 
of  the  house,  but  the  room  was  already  filled  with  gloom, 
and  the  side-board,  clock  and  what-not,  wrapped  in  it, 
seemed  to  have  enlarged  their  outlines.  The  huge  pendu- 
lum peeped  out  every  second  from  the  glass  of  the  clock- 
case,  and  gleaming  dully,  hid  itself,  with  a  faint,  weary 
sound,  now  on  the  right,  now  on  the  left.  Foma  stared  at 
the  pendulum,  and  felt  bored  and  uncomfortable.  Liuba 
rose  and  lighted  the  lamp  which  hung  over  the  table.  The 
girl's  face  was  pale  and  harsh. 

"  You  have  fallen  foul  of  me,"  began  Foma  soberly, 
*'what  for?    I  can't  understand." 

"  I  won't  talk  with  you,"  retorted  Liuba  angrily. 

'^  As  you  like.  But  nevertheless — what  have  I  done  that 
is  wrong?" 

"  You  must  know  that  I'm  stifling!    I  feel  cooped  up. 

145 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Surely,  this  isn't  life?  Is  this  a  way  for  people  to  live? 
Who  am  I  ?  A  parasite  on  my  father  .  .  he  supports  me 
to  do  the  housekeeping  .  .  and  then,  I'm  to  marry!  more 
housekeeping.    It's  a  quagmire,  I'm  drowning,  I'm  stifling." 

"  And  what  have  I  to  do  with  it?  "  asked  Foma. 

*'  You — you're  no  better  than  the  others." 

"  And  of  what  am  I  guilty  towards  you?  " 

"Guilty?    You  ought  to  wish — ^to  be  better    .    ." 

"  Well,  and  don't  I  wish  that?  ! "  exclaimed  Foma. 

The  girl  was  on  the  point  of  saying  something  to  him, 
but  at  that  moment,  a  bell  tinkled  somewhere  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  throwing  herself  back  in  her  chair,  she  said,  in 
a  low  tone: 

"  It's  father." 

"  Well,  if  he  had  waited  a  while  longer,  we  shouldn't 
have  fretted,"  said  Foma. — "  I'd  like  to  listen  to  you  again 
.    .    you're  awfully  queer    .    ." 

"Ah!  My  children,  my  dark-blue  doves!"  exclaimed 
Yakoff  Tarasovitch,  making  his  appearance  in  the  doorway. 
— "Are  you  drinking  tea?    Pour  me  out  some,  Liubava!  " 

Smiling  sweetly  and  rubbing  his  hands,  he  seated  himself 
beside  Foma,  and  playfully  punching  him  in  the  ribs,  he 
inquired: 

"  What  were  you  cooing  about  chiefly?  " 

"  Oh — various  trifles,"  replied  Liuba. 

"Who  asked  you?"  her  father  said  to  her,  screwing  up 
his  face. — "  You  sit  there  and  hold  your  tongue,  over  your 
woman's  business." 

"  I  have  told  her  about  the  dinner,"  Foma  interrupted 
his  god-father's  speech. 

"Aha!  Ju-ust  so!  Well,  and  I'll  talk  about  the  dinner 
also.  I  was  watching  you  awhile  ago  .  .  .  you  behaved 
preposterously." 

146 


Foma  Gordy6eff 

"How  so?''  asked  Foma,  involuntarily  contracting  his 
brows. 

"  Why,  downright  preposterously,  and  that's  all  there  is 
to  it.  The  Governor  addresses  you,  for  example,  and  you 
say  not  a  word." 

"  What  should  I  say  to  him?  He  said,  that  it  was  a  great 
misfortune  to  lose  a  father  .  .  well,  I  know  that.  What 
is  there  to  say  to  him?  " 

"  *  Inasmuch  as  it  was  sent  to  me  by  the  Lord,  I  do  not 
repine,  your  Excellency.' — That's  what  you  ought  to  say, 
or  something  in  that  style.  Governors,  my  good  fellow,  are 
very  fond  of  submission  in  a  man." 

"  Why  should  I  stare  at  him  like  a  sheep  ?  "  laughed 
Foma. 

"  You  did  stare  at  him  like  a  sheep, — and  that's  wrong. 
You  don't  need  to  look  like  either  a  sheep  or  a  wolf,  but 
sort  of  perform  before  him  like  this:  '  You're  our  dear  papa, 
and  we're  your  beloved  children  .  .'  he'd  have  thawed  at 
once." 

*' But  why?" 

"  Just  by  way  of  precaution  .  .  A  Governor  is  always 
good  for  some  use,  my  boy!  " 

"What  are  you  teaching  him,  papa?"  said  liuba  in  a 
low,  indignant  tone. 

"Well,  what?" 

"  To  play  the  lackey." 

"  You  lie,  you  learned  fool!  I'm  teaching  him  to  be 
politic,  not  to  play  the  lackey,  I'm  teaching  him  the  politics 
of  life  .  .  Now,  see  here, — take  yourself  off!  Depart 
from  evil  and  prepare  us  some  refreshments.  God  be  with 
you! " 

Liuba  rose  quickly,  and  throwing  the  towel  which  she 
held  in  her  hand  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  left  the  room. 

147 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Her  father,  screwing  up  his  eyes,  gazed  after  her,  drummed 
on  the  table  with  his  fingers,  and  remarked: 

"  I'll  teach  you,  Foma.  I'll  instruct  you  in  the  real,  gen- 
uine science  and  philosophy, — and  if  you  understand  it, 
you  will  live  without  making  mistakes." 

Foma  watched  the  wrinkles  twitching  about  on  the  old 
man's  brow,  and  they  seemed  to  him  to  resemble  the  lines 
in  Slavonic  print. 

"  First  of  all,  Foma,  inasmuch  as  you  are  living  on  this 
earth,  you  are  bound  to  reflect  upon  everything  which 
goes  on  around  you.  Why?  In  order  that  you  yourself 
may  not  suffer  from  your  lack  of  common  sense,  and  that 
you  may  not  injure  other  people  by  your  stupidity.  Now: 
every  mortal  affair  has  two  faces,  Foma.  One,  which  is 
visible  to  everyone — that's  the  false  one,  and  the  other 
concealed,  which  is  the  real  one.  You  must  understand 
how  to  discover  this  last,  in  order  to  comprehend  the  true 
meaning  of  an  affair.  Here,  for  example,  are  the  night 
lodging-houses,  the  work-houses,  alms-houses  and  all  the 
other  institutions  of  that  sort.  Consider — what  are  they 
for?  " 

"What  is  there  to  consider?"  said  Foma  wearily. 
"Everyone  knows  what  they  are  for, — for  the  poor,  the 
helpless." 

"  Eh,  my  boy!  Sometimes  everyone  knows  that  such  and 
Buch  a  man  is  a  rascal,  and  a  swindler,  and  nevertheless  they 
all  call  him  Ivan  or  Piotr,  and  address  him  as  *  dear  Little 
father,'  ^  as  though  he  were  an  honest  man." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at?  " 

"  It  all  has  a  bearing  on  the  matter    .    .    So  here  now, 

you  say  that  these  houses  for  beggars,  for  paupers,  are,  of 

course,  in  fulfilment  of  Christ's  commands.    All  right!    But 

*Equiyalont  here  to :  *'  my  dear  sir." — Translator. 

148 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

what  is  a  beggar?  A  beggar  is  a  man  who  is  forced,  by  fate, 
to  remind  us  of  Christ,  he  is  Christ's  brother,  he  is  the  bell 
of  the  Lord,  and  rings  in  life  for  the  purpose  of  awakening 
our  conscience,  of  stirring  up  the  satiety  of  man's  flesh  .  . 
He  stands  under  the  window  and  sings:  *  For  Christ's 
sa-ake! '  and  by  that  chant  he  reminds  us  of  Christ,  of  His 
holy  command  to  help  our  neighbor.  But  men  have  so 
ordered  their  lives  that  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  them 
to  act  in  accordance  with  Christ's  teaching,  and  Jesus  Christ 
has  become  entirely  superfluous  for  us.  Not  once  but,  in 
all  probability,  a  thousand  times,  we  have  given  Him  over 
to  be  crucified,  but  still  we  cannot  banish  Him  from  our 
lives,  so  long  as  His  poor  brethren  sing  His  Name  in  the 
streets,  and  remind  us  of  Him  .  .  And  so  now  we  have 
hit  on  the  idea  of  shutting  up  the  beggars  in  such  special 
buildings,  so  that  they  may  not  roam  about  the  streets  and 
stir  up  our  consciences." 

"That's  cle-ever! "  whispered  Foma  in  amazement,  star- 
ing with  all  his  eyes  at  his  god-father. 

"  Aha!  "  exclaimed  Mayakin,  and  his  little  eyes  glittered 
with  triumph. 

"  How  was  it  that  my  father  did  not  guess  the  truth?  " 
asked  Foma  uneasily. 

"  Wait!  Listen  a  little  longer,  it  gets  worse  further  on. — 
So  we  have  hit  on  the  idea  of  shutting  them  up  in  divers 
houses,  and,  in  order  that  it  may  not  cost  much  to  main- 
tain them  there,  we  have  set  them  to  work,  the  aged  and 
the  crippled  .  .  And  now  it  is  unnecessary  to  bestow 
alms,  and  by  removing  the  various  sorts  of  refuse  from  our 
streets,  we  no  longer  behold  their  cruel  anguish  and  pov- 
erty, and  therefore  we  are  able  to  think  that  all  the  people 
on  earth  are  well-fed,  shod,  clothed  .  .  So  that's  what 
those  various  houses  are  for, — they  are  for  concealing  the 

149 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

truth,  for  banishing  Christ  from  our  lives!  Is  that 
clear?'' 

"  Ye-es! "  said  Foma,  befogged  by  the  old  man's  artful 
speech. 

"  And  that's  not  all,  either  .  .  we  haven't  bailed  out 
the  puddle  to  the  bottom  yet!  "  exclaimed  Mayakin,  waving 
his  hand  in  the  air  in  animated  fashion. 

The  wrinkles  on  his  face  began  their  play;  his  long, 
rapacious  nose  quivered,  and  his  voice  quavered  with  the 
notes  of  a  certain  fervor  and  emotion. 

"  Now  let  us  look  at  this  matter  from  the  other  side. 
Who  is  it  that  contributes  most  of  all  for  the  benefit  of  the 
poor,  to  all  these  houses,  asylums,  philanthropic  institu- 
tions? The  rich  people,  the  merchants,  our  trading  class 
.  .  Very  good,  sir!  But  who  commands  and  arranges  their 
life?  The  nobles,  the  officials,  and  all  other  sorts  of  people, 
only  not  our  people  .  .  The  laws  and  the  newspapers 
and  the  sciences  come  from  them — everything  is  from  them. 
In  former  days  they  were  landed  proprietors,  now  the  land 
has  been  jerked  out  from  beneath  them, — they  have  entered 
the  government  service. — All  right!  But  who  are  the  most 
powerful  people  now-a-days?  The  merchant  is  the  great- 
est power  in  the  Empire,  because  the  millions  are  his!  Isn't 
that  so?" 

"Yes!"  assented  Foma,  anxious  to  hear,  as  speedily  as 
possible,  what  his  god-father  still  had  to  say,  and  what  was 
already  flashing  from  his  eyes. 

"  Well  then,  you  are  to  understand  this,"  continued  the 
old  man  slowly  and  impressively;  "  their  life  has  not  been 
arranged  by  us  merchants,  and  down  to  the  present  day, 
we  have  no  voice  in  its  organization,  we  can't  lay  hand  to  it. 
Others  have  arranged  that  life,  and  they  have  bred  in  it  all 
sorts  of  scabbiness,  in  the  life  of  these  sluggards,  unfortu- 

150 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

nates,  paupers — and  if  they  have  bred  it,  they  have  defiled 
it,  and  they — judging  as  God  would  Judge — should  purify 
it.  But  it  is  we  who  purify  it — we  contribute  to  the  wants 
of  the  needy,  we  take  care  of  them.  Judge  for  yourself, 
pray;  why  should  we  sew  patches  on  the  rags  of  another 
man,  if  we  have  not  torn  them?  Why  should  we  set  up  a 
house,  if  we  do  not  live  in  it,  and  it  is  not  ours?  Wouldn't 
it  be  more  sensible  if  we  were  to  step  aside,  and  stand  there 
and  watch  for  a  while,  how  every  sort  of  rottenness  multi- 
plies, and  strangles  the  man  who  is  a  stranger  to  us?  He 
can't  manage  it — he  has  no  means.  So  he  turns  to  us, 
and  says:  *  Pray  help,  gentlemen! '  And  we  reply  to  him: 
*  Please  give  us  room  to  work  in!  Include  us  among  the 
organizers  of  that  life! '  And  as  soon  as  he  does  include  us, 
then,  with  one  sweep  we  must  purify  life  from  every  un- 
cleanness  and  divers  excesses.  Then  our  Sovereign  the  Em- 
peror will  perceive  clearly  with  his  bright  eyes  who  are  his 
faithful  servants,  and  how  much  sense  they  have  acquired 
while  their  hands  were  idle. — Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  help  understanding!  "  exclaimed  Foma. 

When  his  god-father  spoke  of  officials,  he  recalled  the 
faces  which  had  been  at  the  dinner,  he  recalled  the  auda- 
cious secretary,  and  through  his  mind  darted  the  thought, 
that  that  roly-poly  little  man  certainly  did  not  possess  more 
than  a  thousand  rubles  a  year,  while  he,  Foma, — had  a 
million.  But  that  man  lived  so  easily,  so  freely,  in  a  way 
which  he,  Foma,  did  not  know  how  to  live,  in  a  way  which 
it  would  put  him  to  confusion  to  live.  This  comparison, 
and  his  god-father's  harangue  aroused  in  him  a  perfect 
whirlwind  of  thoughts,  but  he  succeeded  in  catching  and 
formulating  only  one  of  them. 

"  Is  it  a  fact,  that  you  toil  for  nothing  but  money?  But 
of  what  use  is  it,  if  it  does  not  give  power?  " 

151 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Aha! "  said  Mayakin,  with  a  wink. 

"Ekh!"  ejaculated  Foma,  offended.  "What  did  my 
father  think  about  it?    Did  you  discuss  it  with  him? '' 

"  Yes,  for  twenty  years.'* 

"  Well,  and  what  did  he  say?  " 

"  My  argument  did  not  reach  him — ^the  deceased  had  a 
pretty  thick  skull  .  .  He  wore  his  heart  on  his  sleeve, 
but  his  mind  lay  deep.  H-m  ye-es!  He, — he  blundered, — 
and  it's  a  great,  a  very  great  pity  about  that  money." 

"  I'm  not  sorry  about  the  money." 

"  You  ought  to  try  to  earn  even  one  tenth  of  it,  and  then 
you  might  talk    .    ." 

"  May  I  come  in?  "  rang  out  litiba's  voice  at  the  door. 

"  Yes — hop  right  in,"  replied  her  father. 

"Do  you  want  your  refreshments  at  once?"  she  asked, 
as  she  entered. 

"  I'm  agreeable." 

She  went  to  the  sideboard  and  rattled  the  dishes.  Yakoff 
Tarasovitch  watched  her,  twisted  his  lips  about,  and  sud- 
denly clapping  Foma  on  the  knee  with  his  hand  he  said  to 
him: 

"  So  then,  god-son!    Investigate    .    ." 

Foma  answered  him  by  a  smile,  and  thought  to  himself: 

"  He's  clever — cleverer  than  my  father  was." 

And  immediately  he  answered  himself,  but  in  what 
seemed  to  be  another  voice; 

"  Cleverer  but  worse." 


152 


The  double  tie  to  Mayakin  kept  getting  a  stronger  clutch    \ 
on  Fomd  as  time  went  on:  as  lie  listened  to  his  god-father's     \ 
remarks  with  attention  and  eager  curiosity,  he  was  conscious     / 
that  every  meeting  with  him  augmented  his  unpleasant^ 
feeling  toward  the  old  man.    At  times,  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  \ 
aroused  in  his  god-son  a  feeling  akin  to  terror,  at  times  even, 
physical  repulsion.     The   latter  generally  made   its  ap- 
pearance in  Foma  when  the  old  man  was  pleased  with 
something  and  laughed.    The  old  man's  wrinkles  shook  with 
laughter,  altering  the  expression  of  his  face  every  second; 
his  thin,  dry  lips  twitched,  stretched  and  disclosed  black 
stumps  of  teeth,  and  his  red  beard  seemed  fairly  afire.    The 
sound  of  his  laughter  resembled  the  squeak  of  rusty  hinges, 
and  the  old  man  himself  a  sportive  lizard.    Unable  to  con- 
ceal his  feelings,  Foma  expressed  them  to  Mayakin  fre- 
quently and  with  extreme  harshness,  both  by  words  and 
gestures,  but  the  old  man  did  not  seem  to  notice  this,  andjv 
keeping  an  eye  constantly  on  his  god-son,  guided  his  every  ^ 
step.    He  hardly  went  to  his  little  shop  at  all,  being  com- 
pletely engrossed  in  young  Gordyeeff's  steamer  affairs,  and 
leaving  Foma  much  leisure  time.     Thanks  to  Mayakin's 
importance  in  the  town  and  his  extensive  acquaintance  on 
the  Volga,  the  business  went  on  brilhantly,  but  Mayakin's 
zealous  relations  to  the  business  strengthened  Foma's  con- 
viction that  his  god-father  was  firmly  resolved  to  marry 
him  to  Liuba,  and  this  still  further  repelled  him  from  the 
old  man. 

153 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

He  liked  Liiiba,  and  yet  she  seemed  suspicious  and  dan- 
gerous for  him.  She  did  not  marry,  and  his  god-father 
said  nothing  on  that  point,  gave  no  evening  parties,  invited 
none  of  the  young  men  to  his  house,  and  did  not  allow 
Liuba  to  go  out  anywhere.  All  her  girl  friends  were  al- 
ready married  .  .  .  Foma  was  astonished  at  her  speeches, 
and  listened  to  them  as  eagerly  as  to  the  harangues  of  her 
father;  but  when  she  began  to  talk  lovingly  and  sorrowfully 
about  Taras,  it  seemed  to  him  that  under  that  name  she 
was  concealing  some  other  man,  perhaps  that  same  Ezhoff, 
who,  from  what  she  said,  had  been  compelled,  for  some 
reason,  to  leave  the  university  and  depart  from  Moscow. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  simplicity  and  kindliness  about 
her,  which  pleased  Foma,  and  by  her  remarks  she  often 
evoked  his  pity  for  her:  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  not 
living  but  raving  with  her  eyes  wide  open. 

His  outburst  at  his  father's  funeral-feast  became  noised 
about  among  the  merchant  class,  and  created  for  him  an 
unflattering  reputation.  When  he  was  on  'Change,  he  ob- 
served that  everyone  looked  at  him  with  a  sneer,  disap- 
provingly, and  that  they  talked  with  him  in  a  rather  pe- 
culiar way.  Once,  even,  he  heard  behind  him  the  low  but 
scornful  exclamation: 

"  The  paltry  little  stuck-up  fool!    The  milk-sop." 

He  felt  that  it  was  said  about  him,  but  he  did  not  turn 
round,  did  not  look  to  see  who  had  hurled  these  words  at 
him.  The  rich  men,  who,  at  first,  had  inspired  him  with 
shyness  in  their  presence,  lost  in  his  eyes  the  charm  of 
their  wealth  and  their  cleverness.  More  than  once  they  had 
wrested  from  his  grasp  one  profitable  contract  or  another; 
he  perceived  clearly  that  they  would  do  the  same  in  the 
future,  and  they  all  appeared  to  him  equally  greedy  for 
money,  always  ready  to  cheat  one  another.    When  he  com- 

154 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

municated  his  observations  to  his  god-father,  the  old  man 
Baid: 

"And  what  of  that?  Trade  is  exactly  like  war  .  .  a 
game  of  chance.  They  are  fighting  for  their  pocket-books, 
and  the  soul  is  in  the  pocket-book." 

"  I  don't  like  it/'  declared  Foma. 

"I  don't  like  everything  either, — there's  a  great  deal 
that  is  false.  But  it's  utterly  impossible  to  walk  perfectly 
straight  in  a  matter  of  business, — one  must  be  politic!  So, 
my  boy,  when  you  approach  a  man,  hold  honey  in  your 
left  hand,  and  in  your  right — a  knife!  Every  man  wants 
to  purchase  a  five-kopek  piece  for  two  kopeks." 

"  Well — that's  not  very  nice,"  said  Foma  meditatively. 

"  It  will  be  nicer  later  on.  When  you  get  the  upper  hand, 
it's  nice  enough.  Life,  my  dear  Foma,  is  very  simply  reg- 
ulated;   Bite  everybody,  or  lie  in  the  mud." 

The  old  man  smiled,  and  the  snags  of  teeth  in  his  mouth 
aroused  in  Foma  the  keen  thought: 

"  Evidently,  you  have  bitten  a  great  many." 

"  In  one  word — it's  war!  "  repeated  the  old  man. 

"Is  it  an  actual  fact?"  asked  Foma,  gazing  searchingly 
at  Mayakin. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  an  actual  fact? ' " 

"  There's  nothing  better?    That's  all  there  is  to  it?  " 

"What  else  should  there  be?  Everyone  lives  for  him- 
self. Everyone  wishes  the  best  for  himself  .  .  .  And 
what  is  that  best?  To  get  ahead  of  people,  to  stand  higher 
than  they  do.  Everyone  is  striving  to  attain  to  the  highest 
place  in  life — one  in  one  way,  another  in  another  way — but 
all,  of  necessity,  desire  that  they  may  be  visible  from  a  dis- 
tance, like  the  belfries.  That's  what  man  is  destined  to — 
elevation.  Even  in  the  Book  of  Job  this  is  expressed:  *A 
man  is  born  to  trouble,  like  the  sparks,  that  he  may  fly  up- 

155 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ward.'  Just  look:  the  little  brats  in  their  games  always 
want  to  excel  one  another.  And  every  game  has  its  highest 
point,  which  makes  it  absorbing    .    .    Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"I  do  understand  that!"  said  Foma,  courageously  and 
with  conviction. 

"  You  must  feel  it  also  .  .  By  understanding  alone 
youll  never  jump  up  anywhere,  and  you  must  long,  and 
long  fervently,  that  the  mountain  should  be  a  hillock,  the 
ocean  a  puddle  for  you!  Eh!  When  I  was  your  age,  I  used 
to  treat  life  as  a  jest!  But  you'll  catch  on  all  right.  How- 
ever, good  fruit  never  ripens  fast." 

The  old  man's  monotonous  harangues  speedily  effected 
the  object  for  which  they  were  intended;  Foma  heeded 
them,  and  explained  to  himself  the  aim  of  life.  He  kept 
repeating  to  himself  that  he  must  be  better  than  other  men, 
and  vanity,  aroused  by  the  old  man,  ate  deeply  into  his 
heart.  It  ate  in,  but  did  not  fill  it,  for  Foma's  relations 
to  Madame  Medynsky  assumed  the  character  which  they 
were  bound  to  assume.  He  was  attracted  to  her,  he  was 
always  wishing  to  see  her,  but  in  her  presence  he  became 
shy,  clumsy,  stupid,  knew  it,  and  suffered  because  of  it. 
He  was  frequently  at  her  house,  but  it  was  difficult  to  find 
her  at  home  alone:  the  scented  dandies  were  always  hover- 
ing about  her,  like  files  over  a  lump  of  sugar.  They  talked 
to  her  in  French,  they  sang,  they  laughed,  but  he  remained 
silent,  and  stared  at  them,  full  of  wrath  and  envy.  Cross- 
ing his  legs,  he  seated  himself  in  some  corner  of  her  gaily 
furnished  drawing-room,  where  it  was  dreadfully  difficult 
to  walk  about,  without  coming  into  contact  with  and  over- 
turning something, — and  there  he  sat,  and  gloomily  made 
his  observations. 

She  flitted  noiselessly  about  before  him,  over  the  soft 
rugs,  throwing  him  caressing  glances  and  smiles,  her  adorers 

156 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

wound  in  and  out  after  her,  and  all  of  them  avoided,  with  the 
agility  of  serpents,  the  divers  little  tables,  the  chairs,  screens, 
stands  for  flowers — a  whole  shopful  of  beautiful  and  fragile 
articles  strewn  over  the  room  with  a  carelessness  which  was 
equally  dangerous  for  them  and  for  Foma.  When  he 
walked,  the  rugs  did  not  deaden  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps, and  all  those  things  caught  in  his  frock-coat,  reeled, 
and  fell.  Near  the  piano  stood  a  bronze  sailor,  with  arm 
uplifted  to  cast  a  life-preserver,  and  on  the  life-preserver 
hung  ropes  of  wire,  which  were  always  pulling  Foma's  hair. 
All  this  evoked  the  laughter  of  Sofya  Pavlovna  and  her 
adorers,  but  cost  Foma  very  dear,  driving  him  now  into  a 
fever,  again  into  a  chill. 

But  he  was  no  more  at  his  ease  when  he  was  alone  with 
her.  Greeting  him  with  a  caressing  smile,  she  would  seat 
herself  with  him  in  one  of  the  cosy  nooks  of  the  drawing- 
room,  and  she  generally  began  the  conversation  by  com- 
plaining to  him  about  everybody: 

"  You  cannot  believe  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  ^' 

Curving  herself  like  a  cat,  she  would  gaze  into  his  eyes 
with  her  dark  glance,  in  which  something  greedy  now 
flashed  up. 

"  Tm  so  fond  of  talking  with  you,"  she  chanted,  drawl- 
ing out  her  words  musically. — "Fm  tired  of  all  those 
men  .  .  .  they^re  so  wearisome,  ordinary,  thread- 
bare. But  you  are  so  fresh,  and  genuine.  Surely,  you 
don't  like  them  either  ?  " 

"  I  can't  endure  them ! ''  replied  Foma  firmly. 

**  And  me  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

Foma  turned  his  eyes  aside  and  said,  with  a  sigh : 

"  How  many  times  have  you  asked  that  ?  " 

"  You  find  it  difficult  to  say  ?  " 

"  No— but  why  should  I  ? '' 

157 


Foma  Gordyeeff 


**  I  must  know/^ 

"  You  are  playing  with  me/'  said  Foma  gloomily. 

But  she  opened  her  eyes  wide,  and,  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
profound  amazement,  inquired: 

"  How  am  I  playing  with  you  ?  What  does  the  word 
mean  ?  " 

And  her  face  was  so  angelic  that  he  could  not  do  other- 
wise than  believe  her. 

"  I  love  you — I  love  you !  Is  it  possible  not  to  love 
you  ?  "  he  said  ardently,  and  then  instantly  added,  sadly, 
in  a  lower  tone :    "  But,  of  course,  you  do  not  want  that.'* 

"  There,  you  have  said  it! "  sighed  Madame  Medynsky, 
in  a  satisfied  way,  and  moved  away  from  him. 

"  It  is  always  extremely  agreeable  to  me  to  hear  how 
you  say  that — in  such  a  youthful,  whole-hearted  way.  , 
Would  you  like  to  kiss  my  hand  ?  '^ 

Silently  he  grasped  her  slender,  white  hand,  and,  bend- 
ing cautiously  over  it,  he  kissed  it  long  and  fervently. 
She  tore  her  hand  away,  smiling,  gracious,  but  not  in  the 
least  agitated  by  his  ardor.  Thoughtfully,  and  with  that 
gleam  in  her  eyes  which  disconcerted  Foma,  she  scruti- 
nized him,  as  though  he  were  something  rare  and  very 
curious,  and  said: 

"  How  much  health,  strength,  and  freshness  of  soul  you 
have.  .  Do  you  know,  you  merchants  are  a  tribe  which 
has  not  had  much  experience,  as  yet,  a  tribe  with  original 
traditions,  with  vast  energy  of  soul  and  body.  Take  your- 
self, for  example ;  you  are  a  precious  stone,  and  if  you  were 
cut     .     .     .     Oh!'' 

When  she  said :  "  you  have,"  "  in  your  way,"  "  after 
the  merchant  fashion,"  it  seemed  to  Foma  that,  by  these 
words,  she  repulsed  him  from  her.  It  was  both  melan- 
choly and  offensive.    He  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  at  her 

158 


Fomk  Gordyeeff 

tiny  figure,  which  was  always  garbed  in  a  rather  peculiarly 
beautiful  manner,  was  always  as  fragrant  as  a  flower,  and 
delicate  as  that  of  a  young  girl.  At  times  there  flashed 
up  within  him  a  wild,  fierce  desire  to  seize  her  and  kiss 
her.  But  her  beauty,  and  the  fragility  of  her  slender  and 
willowy  body,  aroused  in  him  the  fear  of  breaking  or  crip- 
pling her,  while  her  calm,  caressing  voice,  and  her  clear 
glance — which  yet  seemed  to  be  on  guard — chilled  his  im- 
petuosity; it  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  looking  straight 
into  his  soul,  and  understood  all  his  thoughts.  But  these 
outbursts  of  feeling  were  rare,  and,  in  general,  the  young 
man  bore  himself  toward  Madame  Medynsky  with  adora- 
tion, admired  everything  about  her — her  beauty,  her  re- 
marks, her  clothing.  And,  side  by  side  with  this  adora- 
tion, there  always  existed  within  him  the  torturingly-acute  \  I 
consciousness  of  his  remoteness  from  her,  of  her  superior- 
ity over  him. 

These  relations  were  promptly  established  between 
them;  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  encounters,  Madame 
Medynsky  completely  captivated  the  young  man,  and  be- 
gan slowly  to  torture  him.  It  must  have  pleased  her  to 
exercise  power  over  the  healthy,  robust  young  fellow;  it 
pleased  her  to  arouse  and  quell  the  animal  in  him  by  her 
voice  and  glance  alone,  and  she  enjoyed  playing  with  him, 
confident  of  the  strength  of  her  influence.  He  quitted 
her  half  ill  with  excitement,  and  bore  away  with  him 
offence  at  her,  and  wrath  at  himself,  and  many  burdensome 
sensations  which  intoxicated  him.  But,  within  two  days, 
he  presented  himself  for  more  torture.  One  day  he 
timidly  asked  her: 

"  Sofya  Pavlovna! — have  you  ever  had  any  children?  " 

"  No." 

"I  knew  it!"  exclaimed  Foma  joyfully. 

159 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

She  gazed  at  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  very  young  and 
ingenuous  girl  and  said : 

"  How  did  you  know  it  ?  And  why  do  you  wish  to  know 
whether  I  have  had  any  children  ? '' 

Fomd  turned  scarlet,  bent  his  head,  and  began  to  say 
to  her  dully,  and  exactly  as  though  he  were  forcing  the 
words  out  of  the  ground,  and  every  word  weighed  forty 
pounds : 

"  You  see — ^if  a  woman  who — ^that  is  to  say — ^has  had  a 
child,  her  eyes  are  not  so  utterly    .    .    J' 

"Ye-es?     So  what?'' 

"  Shameless ! "  blurted  out  Foma. 

Madame  Med;fnsky  laughed  her  silvery  laugh,  and 
Foma,  gazing  at  her,  laughed  also. 

"  Forgive  me !  "  he  said,  at  last.  "  Perhaps  I  have  not 
expressed  myself  well,  properly.    ." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  you  cannot  say  anything  improper.  .  . 
You  are  a  pure,  darling  little  boy.  So  my  eyes  are  shame- 
less?'' 

"  Your  eyes  are — those  of  an  angel !  "  declared  Foma 
triumphantly,  regarding  her  with  a  beaming  glance. 

But  she  gazed  at  him  as  she  had  not  gazed  up  to  that 
time — ^with  the  look  of  the  woman-mother,  with  the  plain- 
tive glance  of  love,  mingled  with  alarm  for  the  beloved 
object. 

"  Go  away,  my  dear  one.  .  I  am  weary  and  wish  to 
rest,"  she  said  to  him,  rising  and  not  looking  at  him. 

He  submissively  took  his  departure. 

For  a  while  after  this  occurrence  she  treated  him  more 
severely  and  honorably,  as  though  pitying  him,  but  later 
on,  their  relations  assumed  the  ancient  form  of  a  cat's 
play  with  a  mouse. 

Fomd's  relations  to  Madame  Med^nsky  could  not  be 

1G3 


Foma  Gordydeff 

concealed  from  his  god-father,  and  one  day  the  old  man, 
with  a  spiteful  expression  of  countenance,  said  to  him: 

"Foma,  you'd  better  feel  of  your  head  pretty  often, 
lest  you  lose  it  by  accident." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  inquired  Foma. 

"  I  refer  to  Sonka.  .  .  You  go  to  see  her  very  often 
indeed." 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?  "  said  Fomd  rudely.  "  And  what 
business  have  you  to  call  her  Sonka  ?  " 

"  It's  nothing  to  me — I  shall  lose  nothing  if  they  skin 
you.  And  as  for  calling  her  Sonka — everybody  knows 
about  that.  .  .  And  that  she's  fond  of  pulling  the 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  with  other  people's  hands — every- 
body knows  also." 

"  She's  clever ! "  declared  Foma  firmly,  frowning  and 
hiding  his  hands  in  his  pockets.     .     "  Highly  educated." 

"  She  is  clever — that's  true !  For  instance,  how  cleverly 
she  organized  that  last  evening  entertainment:  the  pro- 
ceeds were  two  thousand  four  hundred  rubles — and  the 
expenses  were  one  thousand  nine  hundred.  And  there 
should  be  no  expenses  at  all  .  .  because  everything  is 
done  for  her  and  given  to  her  gratis.  .  She's  highly 
educated.  .  She  will  educate  you,  especially  the  lazy 
dogs  who  hang  round  her.     ." 

"  They're  not  lazy  dogs — but  clever  fellows,  too ! "  re- 
torted Foma  angrily,  contradicting  himself.  .  "  And 
I'm  learning  from  them.  .  What  am  I  good  for?  Noth- 
ing— neither  to  pipe  nor  to  dance.  .  What  was  I  taught  ? 
But  there  they  talk  of  everything,  and  each  person  has 
his  say.     Don't  you  prevent  my  making  a  man  of  myself." 

"  Phe-ew!  Ho-ow  you  have  learned  to  talk!  It's  just 
like  hail  on  the  roof  .  .  it's  fierce!  Well,  all  right — 
make  a  man  of  yourself — only  'twould  be  less  dangerous 

161 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

to  go  to  the  public-house  to  accomplish  it;  there  the  men 
are,  at  any  rate,  better  than  Sofya^s  fellows.  .  And  you, 
my  lad,  would  do  well  to  learn  to  discriminate  between 
people,  to  know  what  each  one  is  like.  For  example, 
Sofya.  .  What  does  she  represent?  An  insect  for  the 
adornment  of  Nature — nothing  else ! '' 

Indignant  to  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  Foma  clenched  his 
teeth  and  quitted  Mayakin,  with  his  hands  thrust  still 
deeper  into  his  pockets.  But  it  was  not  long  before  the 
old  man  again  brought  up  the  subject  of  Madame  Medyn- 
sky.  They  were  returning  from  the  overflowed  tract, 
after  inspecting  some  steamers,  and  as  they  sat  in  the 
huge,  comfortable  sledge,  they  were  chatting  in  a  friendly 
and  animated  way  about  business  matters.  This  was  in 
the  month  of  March :  water  creaked  under  the  runners  of 
their  sledge,  the  snow  was  already  covered  with  a  dirty 
film,  and  the  sun  shone  cheerfully  and  warmly  in  the  clear 
sky. 

"  When  you  get  back,  you'll  be  going  to  your  fine  lady 
the  very  first  thing  ?  '^  inquired  Mayakin  unexpectedly, 
breaking  off  their  business  conversation. 

"I  shall,"  replied  Foma  curtly  and  with  displeasure. 

"  Mm  .  .  Tell  me,  do  you  often  make  gifts  to  her  ?  " 
asked  Mayakin  simply,  and  in  a  rather  confidential  way. 

"  What  gifts  ?     Why  ?  "  asked  Foma  in  surprise. 

"You  don't  make  her  gifts?  The  idea.  .  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  she  lives  with  you  simply  for  love  ?  " 

Foma  blazed  up  in  wrath  and  shame,  turned  sharply  on 
the  old  man  and  said  reproachfully: 

"  Eh !  You're  an  old  man, — but  it's  shameful  to  listen 
to  you!    Come  now. — Would  she — do  such  a  thing?  " 

Mayakin  smacked  his  lips,  and  drawled,  in  a  whining 
tone: 

1C2 


Foma  Gordydeff 

"What  a  blo-ockhead  you  are!  What  a  foo-ol!"  and, 
suddenly  waxing  spiteful,  he  spat.  "  Fie  on  you !  Every 
sort  of  animal  has  drunk  from  the  jug,  the  dregs  re- 
main, but  the  fool  has  set  up  the  dirty  pot  as  a  little 
goddess  for  himself  .  .  .  The  de-evil!  Do  you  go  to 
her,  and  say,  straight  out:  *  I  want  to  be  your  lover — I'm 
young,  don't  charge  much.'  "  i 

"  God-father!  "  said  Foma,  surlily  and  menacingly  .  . 
"  I  cannot  listen  to  this    .    .    If  it  were  anyone  else    .    ." 

"But  who  else  except  myself  will  warn  you?  Ah,  good 
heavens!"  squealed  Mayakin,  clasping  his  hands.  "Has 
she  been  leading  you  by  the  nose  all  winter?  Well,  what 
a  nose!    Ah,  such  a  nose!    0,  the  wretched  creature!  " 

The  old  man  was  disturbed;  vexation,  anger,  even  tears 
were  audible  in  his  voice.  Foma  had  never  seen  him  like 
that,  and  involuntarily  remained  silent,  staring  at  him. 

"  She  will  certainly  ruin  you!    Oh  Lord!  " 

Mayakin's  eyes  winked  more  rapidly,  his  lips  quivered, 
and  in  coarse,  cynical  words  he  began  to  speak  about 
Madame  Medynsky,  irritably,  with  a  wrathful  squeak. 
Foma  felt  that  the  old  man  was  telhng  the  truth.  He 
found  it  difficult  to  breathe,  and  his  mouth  tasted  dry  and 
bitter. 

"  Enough,  papa,  pray  stop  .  .  ."  he  entreated  softly 
and  sadly,  turning  away  from  Mayakin. 

"  Eh,  you'd  better  get  married  as  quickly  as  possible!  '* 
cried  the  old  man  in  alarm. 

"  For  Christ's  sake,  don't  say  that  .  ."  implored  Fomd, 
in  a  dull  voice. 

Mayakin  glanced  at  his  god-son,  and  held  his  peace. 
Foma's  face  seemed  to  have  grown  haggard  and  pale,  and 
there  was  much  heavy  and  bitter  amazement  expressed  on 
his  half-opened  lips,  and  in  his  mournful  glance. — On  the 

163 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

right  and  the  left  of  the  road  lay  meadows,  covered  with 
tufts  of  their  winter  garments.  Books  were  hopping  eager- 
ly about  on  the  black  spots  where  the  snow  had  melted.  The 
water  seeped  under  the  sledge-runners,  the  dirty  snow  flew 
from  under  the  hoofs  of  the  horses. 

"  Well,  and  man  is  stupid  in  his  youth!  "  exclaimed  Maya- 
kin  in  a  low  tone.  Foma  did  not  look  at  him.  "  The  stump 
of  a  tree  stands  in  front  of  him — and  he  sees  it  as  the  maw 
of  a  wild  beast, — and  frightens  himself  with  it,  o — ^ho — 
ho!'' 

"  Speak  straight  out,"  said  Foma  surlily. 

"What  is  there  to  say?  The  matter  is  plain;  maidens  are 
cream,  married  women  are  milk;  the  married  women  are 
close  at  hand,  the  maidens  are  far  away — therefore,  go  to 
Sonka  if  you  can't  get  along  without  it, — and  tell  her 
plainly, — thus  and  so  .  .  .  The  little  idiot!  if  she's  a 
sinner,  you  know,  that  means  that  she  will  be  the  more 
easily  attainable  to  you.  What  are  you  sulking  about? 
What  are  you  flaring  up  about?  " 

"  You  don't  understand,"  said  Foma  softly. 

"What  is  it  I  don't  understand?  I  understand  every- 
thing! " 

"  The  heart — that  a  man  has  a  heart,"  sighed  the  young 
man. 

Mayakin  puckered  up  his  eyes  and  remarked: 

"  That  means,  that  he  has  no  brain." 


164 


yi 

FoMA  drove  into  town,  a  prey  to  melancholy  and  re- 
vengeful wrath.  A  passionate  desire  boiled  within  him  to 
insult  Madame  Medynsky,  to  revile  her.  With  his  teeth 
tightly  set  together,  and  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his 
pockets,  he  paced  up  and  down  the  empty  rooms  of  his 
house  for  several  hours  in  succession,  frowning  harshly, 
and  with  his  chest  well  thrust  forward.  His  breast  was  too 
narrow  for  his  heart,  which  was  full  of  anger.  He  set  his 
feet  down  heavily  and  in  measured  tread  on  the  floor,  as 
though  he  were  fettering  his  wrath. 

"  The  vile  creature — had  put  on  the  guise  of  an  angel! 
— Like  a  living  being,  Pelagaya  rose  to  his  memory,  and 
he  whispered  maliciously  and  bitterly: 

"  She  was  an  abandoned  woman,  but  she  was  better! — 
She  made  no  pretence. — She  laid  bare  soul  and  body  at 
once." 

From  time  to  time,  hope  suggested  to  him,  in  a  timid 
voice: 

"  Perhaps  all  those  things  about  her  are  Hes." 

But  he  recalled  the  eager  conviction  and  power  of  his 
god-father's  remarks,  and  that  thought  perished.  He  set 
his  teeth  more  firmly,  and  thrust  out  his  chest  still  more. 
Evil  thoughts  were  piercing  at  his  heart  like  splinters,  and 
his  heart  was  gnawed  with  the  sharp  pain  of  them. 

Mayakin,  by  casting  down  Madame  Medynsky  into  the 
mud,  had  thereby  rendered  her  more  accessible  to  his  god- 
son, and  Foma  speedily  comprehended  this.    Several  days 

165 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

passed  in  the  business  cares  which  spring  brought  with  it, 
and  Foma's  agitated  feelings  quieted  down.  Sadness  over 
the  loss  of  a  man  didled  his  wrath  against  the  woman,  but 
the  thought  of  the  woman's  accessibility  increased  her  at- 
traction for  him.  And  imperceptibly  to  himself,  he  sud- 
denly understood  this,  and  decided  that  he  must  go  to 
Sofya  Pavlovna  and  say  to  her  simply  what  he  wanted  of 
her, — and  that  was  all!  He  even  experienced  a  certain  joy 
at  this  decision,  and  went  boldly  to  Madame  Med;fnsky, 
meditating  on  the  way  only  as  to  the  best  and  most  adroit 
method  of  saying  to  her  what  was  necessary. 

Madame  Med^nsky's  servants  were  accustomed  to  his 
visits,  and  to  his  question:  "Was  Madame  at  home?  "  the 
maid  said: 

"  Please  go  into  the  drawing-room, — she  is  alone  there." 

He  quailed  a  little  .  .  .  but  catching  sight  in  the 
mirror  of  his  stately  form,  handsomely  clad  in  a  frock-coat, 
and  his  swarthy  face  framed  in  a  small  downy  black 
beard,  a  serious  face,  with  large,  dark  eyes, — he  elevated  his 
shoulders,  and  strode  through  the  hall  with  assurance. 

The  sounds  of  a  stringed  instrument  floated  to  meet  him 
— such  strange  sounds:  they  seemed  to  be  laughing  with 
a  soft,  sorrowful  laugh,  and  wailing  about  something,  and 
touched  the  heart  so  tenderly,  as  though  imploring  atten- 
tion, yet  despairing  of  receiving  it. — Foma  was  not  fond  of 
listening  to  music, — it  always  made  him  sad.  Even  when 
the  "  machine  "  at  the  restaurant  began  to  play  something 
mournful,  he  felt  a  melancholy  languor  in  his  breast,  and 
occasionally  begged  that  the  "  machine  "  might  be  stopped, 
or  went  away  as  far  as  possible  from  it,  feeling  that  he 
could  not  listen  with  composure  to  those  speeches  without 
words,  but  full  of  tears  and  wails.  Now,  also,  he  paused 
involuntarily,  on  the  threshold  of  the  drawing-room. 

166 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  door  was  screene^  by  long  strings  of  motley-hued 
beads,  strung  in  such  a  manner  that  they  formed  a  fantastic 
pattern  of  some  sort  of  plants;  the  strings  waved  gently, 
and  the  pale  shadows  of  flowers  seemed  to  flutter  through 
the  air.  This  transparent  wall  did  not  conceal  the  interior 
of  the  drawing-room  from  Foma's  eyes.  Madame  Medyn- 
sky,  seated  on  a  couch  in  her  favorite  corner,  was  playing 
on  a  mandolin.  A  huge  Japanese  umbrella,  fastened  to  the 
wall,  formed  a  canopy,  with  the  medley  of  its  tints  over  the 
tiny  woman  dressed  in  a  dark  gown;  a  tall  bronze  lamp, 
under  a  red  shade,  flooded  her  with  the  light  of  the  sunset. 
The  tender  sounds  of  the  delicate  strings  rang  out  mourn- 
fully in  the  narrow  room,  filled  with  soft,  fragrant  gloom. 
And  now  the  woman  drops  the  mandolin  on  her  knees, 
and  continuing  to  draw  her  fingers  across  the  strings,  be- 
gins to  gaze  intently  at  something  in  front  of  her.  Foma 
sighed. 

The  soft  sound  of  the  music  floated  around  Madame 
Medynsky,  and  her  face  kept  changing  and  changing,  as 
though  shadows  were  cast  upon  it  from  somewhere  or  other; 
they  fell  and  melted  with  the  gleam  in  her  eyes. 

Foma  gazed  at  her,  and  perceived  that  alone  with  herself 
she  was  not  as  handsome  as  when  others  were  present, — 
her  face  was  older,  more  serious  now, — her  eyes  did  not 
have  that  expression  of  endearment  and  mildness,  they 
looked  bored  and  fatigued.  And  her  pose  was  weary,  as 
though  the  woman  wished  to  rise,  and  could  not.  Foma 
noticed  that  the  object  with  which  he  had  come  to  her  was 
being  replaced  in  his  heart  by  another  feeling.  He  scraped 
his  foot  on  the  floor,  and  coughed. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  in  trembling  alarm. 

"  It  is  I,"  said  Foma,  putting  aside  the  strings  of  beads 
with  his  hand. 

167 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Ah!  But  how  quietly  you  came  .  .  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  .  .  Sit  down!  Why  haven't  you  heen  for  such  a 
long  while?" 

Eeaching  out  one  hand  to  him,  with  the  other  she  pointed 
to  a  small  chair  beside  her,  and  her  eyes  smiled  gleefully. 

"  I  went  to  the  winter-harbor,  to  inspect  my  steamers," 
said  Foma,  with  exaggerated  ease  of  manner,  pushing  his 
chair  closer  to  the  couch. 

"  Is  there  much  snow  in  the  fields  still?  " 

"Plenty  .  .  But  it's  melting  fast.  There  is  water 
everywhere  on  the  roads." 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  Madame  Medynsky  must 
have  noticed  the  freedom  of  his  behavior,  and  something 
new  in  his  smile, — she  adjusted  her  gown,  and  moved  away 
from  him.  Their  eyes  met — and  Madame  Medynsky 
dropped  her  head. 

"  It  is  melting!  "  she  said  thoughtfully,  stroking  the  ring 
on  her  httle  finger. 

"  Ye-es  .  .  there  are  rivulets  everywhere,"  remarked 
Foma,  scrutinizing  his  boots. 

"  That's  good.    Spring  is  coming." 

"  It  will  soon  be  here  now." 

"  Spring  is  coming,"  repeated  Madame  Medynsky  in  a 
low  tone,  and  seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  sound  of  her 
own  words. 

"  People  will  begin  to  fall  in  love,"  said  Foma,  laughing, 
and  began  to  rub  his  hands,  for  some  reason  or  other. 

"Are  you  getting  ready  to  do  it?"  inquired  Madame 
Medynsky  drily. 

"  I'm  all  right — I  was  ready  long  ago — I'm  in  love  for 
life." 

And  Foma  moved  toward  the  woman,  smiling  broadly 
and  confusedly. 

168 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

She  darted  a  swift  glance  at  him,  and  again  began  to  play, 
staring  at  the  strings,  and  saying  reflectively: 

"  Spring  .  .  .  What  a  good  thing  it  is  that  you  are 
only  just  beginning  to  live.  Your  heart  is  full  of  strength 
— and  there  is  nothing  dark  in  it." 

"  Sof ya  Pavlovna !  "  exclaimed  Foma  softly. 

She  stopped  him  with  a  caressing  gesture. 

"  Wait,  my  dear! — Today  I  can  tell  you — something  nice 
.  .  You  know — a  man  who  has  seen  much  of  life  has 
minutes  when,  as  he  gazes  into  his  own  heart,  he  suddenly 
finds  there — something  he  had  forgotten  long  before  .  .  , 
it  has  been  lying  somewhere,  deep  down,  at  the  bottom  of 
his  heart,  for  years — but  has  not  lost  its  fragrance  of  youth, 
and  when  his  memory  touches  it — then  a  breath  of  spring 
is  wafted  over  the  man, — a  breath  of  the  quickening  fresh- 
ness of  the  morning  of  his  day. — This  is  well — though  it 
is  very  sad." 

The  strings  quivered  and  wept  under  her  fingers,  and  it 
seemed  to  Foma  that  their  sounds  and  the  woman's  soft 
voice  were  titillating  his  heart  tenderly  and  caressingly. 
But,  still  firm  in  his  resolve,  he  listened  to  her  words,  and 
not  understanding  their  meaning,  he  thought: 

"  Talk  away!  I  shall  not  believe  any  of  your  speeches 
now! " 

This  thought  irritated  him.  And  he  felt  sorry  that  he 
could  not  listen  to  her  remarks  as  attentively  and  as  con- 
fidingly as  he  had  been  wont  to  do. 

"  You  are  thinking  about  what  one  should  do  with  life  ?  '* 
asked  the  woman. 

"  Sometimes  one  thinks  about  it,  and  then  again,  one 
forgets.  There's  no  time! "  said  Foma,  and  burst  out 
laughing. — "  And  what's  the  good  of  thinking  about  it? 
Of  course — one  sees  how  people  live, — well,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  one  is  bound  to  imitate  them." 

169 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Ah,  don't  do  that!  Have  pity  on  yourself.  You  are 
such  a — splendid  fellow!  There  is  something  peculiar  about 
you — what  is  it?  I  do  not  know!  But  one  can  feel  it.  And 
it  strikes  me  that  you  will  find  it  terribly  difficult  to  live. — 
I  am  convinced  that  you  will  not  walk  in  the  ordinary  path 
of  people  of  your  class  ...  no!  To  you  a  life  cannot 
be  agreeable  that  is  entirely  consecrated  to  gain,  to  the 
pursuit  of  the  ruble — to  that  trade — oh,  no!  I  know  that 
you  long  for  something  different — do  you  not?  '* 

She  spoke  hastily,  with  a  tremor  in  her  eyes.  Foma 
thought,  as  he  gazed  at  her: 

"What's  she  driving  at?" 

And  he  replied  to  her  slowly: 

"  Perhaps  I  may  want  that — perhaps  I  do  want  it." 

Moving  nearer  to  him,  she  gazed  up  into  his  face,  and 
said,  persuasively: 

"Listen!  Do  not  live  like  all  the  re^t!  Arrange  your 
own  life  in  some  other  way.  You  are  strong,  young, — you 
are  good! " 

"  And  if  I  am  good,  then  things  ought  to  go  well  with 
me! "  cried  Foma,  conscious  that  emotion  was  gaining  the 
mastery  over  him,  and  that  his  heart  was  beginning  to  beat 
anxiously. 

"  Ah,  that  does  not  happen  so !  And  the  good  always 
have  a  worse  time  on  the  earth  than  the  bad!  "  said  Madame 
Med^nsky  sadly. 

And  again  the  trembling  notes  of  the  music  leaped  out 
from  beneath  her  fingers.  Foma  felt,  that  if  he  did  not 
begin  on  the  instant  to  say  to  her  what  he  had  to  say,  he 
would  never  say  anything  to  her  later  on. 

"  Bless,  0  Lord!  "  he  ejaculated  mentally,  and,  with  low- 
ered voice,  with  a  strain  upon  his  chest,  he  began : 

"  Sofya  Pavlovna!    Make  an  end  of  it!    I  must  speak. 

170 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

This  is  what  I  came  here  to  say  to  you:  Enough  of  this? 
You  must  deal  with  me  in  a  straightforward  manner, 
openly. — You  allured  me  to  yourself  in  the  beginning,  and 
now  you  are  fencing  me  off  from  you,  in  some  way  or  other 
.  .  I  don't  understand  what  you  say — my  wits  are  dull — 
but  I  certainly  am  conscious  that  you  wish  to  hide  yourself 
from  me — for  I  see — do  you  understand  with  what  object 
I  have  come  to  you?  " 

His  eyes  began  to  flame,  and  with  every  word  his  voice 
grew  louder,  more  ardent.  Her  whole  body  swayed  forward, 
and  she  said,  in  alarm: 

"  Oh,  cease    .    ." 

"I  will  not— I  will  speak!" 

"  I  know  what  you  wish  to  say/' 

"  You  don't  know  all!  "  said  Foma  menacingly,  rising  to 
his  feet. — "  But  I  know  all  about  you!  " 

"  Yes  ?  So  much  the  better  for  me,"  remarked  Madame 
Medynsky  calmly. 

She,  also,  rose  from  her  couch,  as  though  with  the  inten- 
tion of  going  away,  but  after  pausing  for  a  couple  of  sec- 
onds, she  sank  down  again  in  her  former  place.  Her  face 
was  grave,  her  lips  were  tightly  compressed,  but  she  dropped 
her  eyes,  and  Foma  could  not  see  their  expression.  He 
had  imagined  that  when  he  should  say  to  her:  "  I  know  all 
about  you! "  she  would  be  frightened,  she  would  feel 
ashamed,  and  disconcerted,  she  would  ask  his  pardon  for 
having  played  with  him.  Then  he  would  clasp  her  in  a 
close  embrace,  and  forgive  her.  But  it  did  not  turn  out 
thus;  he  was  disconcerted  in  the  presence  of  her  composure; 
he  stared  at  her,  he  sought  for  words  wherewith  to  resume 
his  harangue,  and  found  them  not. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  she  repeated  drily  and  firmly. — 
"  So  you  have  learned  all — yes  ?    And,  of  course,  you  have 

171 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

condemned  me — that  was  the  proper  thing  to  do. — I  under- 
stand, I  am  guilty  in  your  eyes.  But — no,  I  cannot  justify 
myself." 

She  ceased  speaking,  and,  all  at  once,  raising  her  hands 
with  a  nervous  gesture,  she  clasped  her  head, — and  began  to 
arrange  her  hair. 

Foma  emitted  a  deep  sigh.  Madame  Medynsky's  words 
had  slain  some  hope  within  him, — a  hope  of  whose  presence 
in  his  heart  he  only  became  conscious  now  that  it  was  slain. 
And  shaking  his  head,  he  said,  with  bitter  reproach: 

"I  used  to  gaze  at  you  and  think:  *  How  beautiful  she 
is — how  good — a  perfect  dove!  *  And  now,  you  yourself 
say  that  you  are  guilty,  alas!  " 

The  young  fellow's  voice  broke.  But  the  woman  began 
to  laugh  softly. 

"  What  a  splendid,  ridiculous  fellow  you  are! — And  what 
a  pity  that  you  cannot  understand — all  this!  " 

The  young  fellow  looked  at  her,  feeling  himself  disarmed 
by  her  caressing  words  and  mournful  smile.  That  hard, 
harsh  feeling  which  he  cherished  in  his  breast  against  her, 
melted  within  him  at  the  warm  glow  of  her  eyes.  The 
woman  now  seemed  to  him  as  small  and  defenceless  as  a 
child.  She  said  something,  in  an  affectionate  voice,  as 
though  making  some  entreaty,  smiUng  all  the  while,  but  he 
did  not  heed  her  words. 

"  I  came  to  you,"  he  began,  interrupting  her,  "  without 
pity  .  . — I  said  to  myself — *  Fll  tell  her! '  But  I  have 
told  you  nothing — I  don't  want  to.  My  courage  is  gone — 
you  breathe  upon  me  in  such  a  way  .  .  .  Eh,  I  have 
seen  you  to  no  purpose!  What  are  you  to  me?  Evidently, 
I  must  go  away." 

"Wait,  my  dear,  do  not  go!"  said  the  woman  hastily, 
stretching  out  her  hand  to  him    .    . — "  Why  are  you  so — 

172 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

surly?  Do  not  be  angry  with  me!  What  am  I  to  you? 
You  need  a  woman  friend,  of  a  different  sort,  a  simple, 
healthy-souled  creature,  like  yourself.  She  ought  to  be 
merry,  lively.  As  for  me,  I  am  already  an  old  woman.  I'm 
always  sad — I  find  life  so  empty  and  tiresome — so  empty! 
Do  you  know — when  a  man  has  become  accustomed  to  liv- 
ing merrily,  and  cannot  rejoice — he  is  in  a  bad  way!  He 
wishes  to  live  gaily,  he  wishes  to  laugh — and  it  is  not  he 
who  laughs,  but  life  which  laughs  at  him.  And  people — 
Hearken  to  me!  I  counsel  you  like  a  mother,  I  beg  and 
implore  you — listen  to  nothing  but  your  own  heart!  Live 
as  it  dictates.  People  know  nothing,  can  say  nothing  true 
— do  not  listen  to  them!  " 

In  her  effort  to  speak  as  simply  and  intelligibly  as  pos- 
sible, she  grew  agitated,  and  the  words  of  her  discourse 
flowed  one  after  the  other,  hastily,  incoherently.  All  the 
while,  a  pitiful  smile  played  upon  her  lips,  and  her  face 
was  not  pretty. 

"Life  is  very  stern — it  demands  that  all  men  should 
submit  themselves  to  its  claims,  and  only  the  very  strong 
ones  can  oppose  it  with  impunity.  And  can  they?  Oh,  if 
you  only  knew  how  difficult  it  is  to  live. — A  man  gets  to 
the  point  where  he  begins  to  be  afraid  of  himself  .  .  he 
divides  himself  into  judge  and  criminal,  and  condemns  him- 
self, and  seeks  to  justify  himself  to  himself — and  he  is 
ready,  day  and  night,  to  be  with  a  man  he  despises,  who 
is  repulsive  to  him, — only  for  the  sake  of  not  being  alone 
with  himself! " 

Foma  raised  his  head,  and  said  with  incredulity  and 
amazement: 

"I  don't  understand  in  the  least  what  sort  of  a  man  I 
am.    And  Liuboff,  also  says — ." 

"  What  Liub6ff ?    What  does  she  say?  " 

173 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  My  sister. — She  says  the  same, — she's  forever  eomplam- 
ing  of  life." 

"  Oh,  she  is  young  yet!  And  it  is  a  great  happiness  that 
she  is  already  talking  of  that." 

"A  happi-ness! "  drawled  Foma  sneeringly.  "A  nice 
kind  of  happiness,  truly,  which  makes  one  groan  and  com- 
plain." 

"Do  you  heed  the  complaints — there  is  always  much 
wisdom  in  people's  complaints.  Oh,  there  is  more  wisdom 
in  them  than  in  all  else.  Heed  them — they  will  teach  you 
to  find  your  path." 

Foma  listened  to  the  persuasive  sounds  of  the  woman's 
voice,  and  glanced  about  him,  with  surprise  in  his  soul.  He 
had  long  been  familiar  with  everything  there,  but  today 
everything,  somehow,  looked  new:  a  mass  of  trifles  filled 
the  room,  all  the  walls  were  covered  with  pictures,  brackets; 
beautiful  and  striking  things  met  the  eye  on  every  hand. 
The  reddish  gleam  of  the  lamp  induced  melancholy.  Twi- 
light lay  over  everything;  here  and  there,  the  gilding  of  a 
frame,  or  white  spots  of  porcelain  shone  dully  forth  from  it. 
Heavy  stufis  hung  motionless  over  the  doors.  All  this  em- 
barrassed, oppressed  Foma,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  begin- 
ning to  go  astray.  He  felt  sorry  for  the  woman.  But  she 
irritated  him. 

"  You  hear  how  I  am  talking  to  you?  I  would  like  to 
be  your  mother,  your  sister.  No  one  has  ever  evoked  in  me 
such  a  warm,  tender  feeling,  as  to  a  relation,  as  you  have. 
But  you — look  at  me  so — in  such  an  unfriendly  way.  Do 
you  believe  me?   Yes?    No?  " 

He  stared  at  her,  and  said,  with  a  sigh: 

"  Eeally,  I  don't  know. — I  did  believe    .    ." 

"  But  now?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  But  now — it  is  better  that  I  should  go  away!    I  under- 

174 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

stand  nothing — but-  I  would  like  to  understand.  And  I 
don't  understand  myself.  I  came  to  you,  and  I  knew  what 
I  had  to  say  .  .  But  the  result  has  been  a  regular  snarl. 
You  brought  me  up  on  the  nursing-bottle,  you  have  set  me 
on  edge  .  .  And  now  you  say:  *I  will  be  a  mother  to 
you! '    Go  now — leave  me  alone!  " 

"  Understand  me — I  am  sorry  for  you!  "  exclaimed  the 
woman  softly. 

Foma's  irritation  against  her  kept  increasing,  and,  in  pro- 
portion as  he  continued  to  speak,  his  remarks  became  ab- 
surd.— And  as  he  talked,  he  incessantly  shook  his  shoulders, 
as  though  he  were  rending  something  which  hampered  him. 

"Sorry?  Why?  !  I  don't  want  that.  Eh,  I  can't  say 
what  I  mean!  Fm  in  a  bad  plight,  dumb  animal  that  I 
am.  But  I  might  have  told  you! — You  have  not  treated 
me  well — and  I  keep  thinking — why  did  you  allure  a  man 
so?    Am  I  your  plaything?  " 

"  All  I  wanted  was  to  see  you  near  me,"  said  the  woman 
simply,  in  a  guilty  voice. 

He  did  not  hear  these  words. 

"  And  when  it  came  to  the  point, — you  became  fright- 
ened, and  barred  yourself  oS  from  me.  You  began  to  re- 
pent— ha!  Life  is  an  evil!  And  why  are  you  always  com- 
plaining about  life?  What  life?  Man  is  life,  and  there  is 
no  life  except  man.  But  you  have  invented  some  sort  of 
a  monster, — and  you  have  done  it  to  divert  people's  eyes, 
to  justify  yourself.  You  make  mischief,  and  get  mixed  up 
in  various  fancies  and  nonsense, — and  then  moan!  *  Akh, 
life!  Okh,  life! '  And  haven't  you  made  it  for  yourself? 
And  by  sheltering  yourself  under  complaints,  you  confuse 
others. — ^Well,  you  have  strayed  from  the  road,  but  why 
should  I  do  the  same?  Is  it  spite  in  you  that  makes  you 
say;    *  I'm  in  a  bad  fix,  so  I  want  you  to  be  in  a  bad  fix, 

175 


Fomi  Gordy^eff 

too, — there  now:  I'll  sprinkle  your  heart  with  my  poison- 
ous tears! '  Is  that  it?  Oh,  you  woman!  God  gave  you 
angelic  beauty,  but  where  is  your  heart?  " 

He  trembled  all  over,  as  he  stood  before  her,  and  meas- 
ured her  from  head  to  foot  with  his  reproachful  gaze.  Now 
the  words  came  forth  freely  from  his  breast,  he  talked  not 
loudly  but  powerfully,  and  he  found  it  pleasant  to  talk. 
The  woman,  raising  her  head,  stared  up  into  his  face  with 
widely-opened  eyes.  Her  lips  quivered,  and  sharp  little 
wrinkles  made  their  appearance  at  the  corners  of  them. 

"  A  handsome  man,  and  he  ought  to  live  well  .  .  But 
they  say  of  you,  yonder    .    P 

Foma's  voice  broke,  and  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  he  con- 
cluded, in  a  dull  tone: 

"  Farewell! " 

"  Farewell!  "  said  Madame  Medj^nsky  softly. 

He  did  not  give  her  his  hand,  but  wheeling  sharply  round, 
he  walked  away  from  her.  But  at  the  door  leading  into  the 
hall,  he  felt  that  he  pitied  her,  and  cast  a  glance  at  her 
over  his  shoulder.  She  was  standing  there,  in  the  corner, 
alone,  and  her  arms  hung  motionless  down  her  sides,  and 
her  head  was  bent. 

He  comprehended  that  he  could  not  go  like  that,  grew 
confused,  and  said  softly,  but  without  remorse: 

"Perhaps  I  have  said  something  which  offends  you — 
forgive  me!  But,  you  see,  I  love  you," — and  he  sighed 
heavily.  But  the  woman  broke  out  into  soft  but  singular 
laughter. 

"  No,  you  have  not  offended  me  .  .  Go,  and  God  be 
with  you." 

"  Well  then,  farewell!  "  repeated  Fomd,  still  more  softly. 

"  Yes, — "  replied  the  woman,  in  the  same  soft  way. 

Foma  thrust  aside  with  his  hand  the  strings  of  beads; 

176 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

they  swung,  jingled,  and  swept  his  cheeks.  He  shuddered 
at  that  cold  touch  and  went  away,  bearing  in  his  breast  a 
confused,  oppressive  feeling,  and  the  heart  within  him  beat 
as  though  a  soft  but  strong  net  had  been  cast  over  it. 

It  was  already  night,  the  moon  was  shining,  and  the  frost 
had  covered  the  pools  with  crusts  of  dull  silvery  hue.  Foma 
walked  along  the  sidewalk,  breaking  these  crusts,  with  his 
cane,  and  they  crunched  crisply.  The  shadows  of  the 
houses  lay  across  the  road  in  black  squares,  and  those  of  the 
trees,  in  fantastic  patterns.  And  some  of  them  resembled 
slender  hands,  which  were  clutching  helplessly  at  the  earth. 

"What  is  she  doing  now?"  thought  Foma,  picturing  to 
himself  the  lonely  woman,  in  the  corner  of  the  small  room, 
in  the  midst  of  the  reddish  gloom. 

"  It  is  better  for  me  to  forget  her,''  he  decided.  But  it 
was  impossible  to  forget,  and  she  stood  before  him,  evoking 
in  him  now  sharp  pity,  now  irritation  and  even  wrath.  But 
her  image  was  as  clear,  and  his  thoughts  of  her  were  as  bur- 
densome, as  though  he  bore  this  woman  with  him,  in  his 
breast. — A  four-wheeled  drozhky  drove  toward  him,  filling 
the  nocturnal  silence  with  the  clatter  of  wheels  on  the 
stones,  and  their  squeaking  on  the  ice.  When  it  drove  in 
the  strip  of  moonlight,  the  noise  of  its  movement  became 
louder  and  more  lively,  but  in  the  darkness  it  sounded 
heavier  and  duller.  The  driver  and  passenger  were  rock- 
ing and  jolting  about  in  it;  for  some  reason,  they  were  both 
bending  forward,  and  constituted,  together  with  the  horse, 
one  large,  black  mass.  The  street  was  mottled  with  patches 
of  light  and  shadow,  but  at  a  distance  the  gloom  was  as 
intense  as  though  a  wall,  rising  from  earth  to  heaven, 
barred  off  the  street.  For  some  reason  or  other,  it  struck 
Foma  that  these  persons  did  not  know  where  they  were 
driving. — Neither  did  he  know  whither  he  was  going.    His 

177  \^^ 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

house  occurred  to  his  mind,  with  its  six  great  rooms,  in 
which  he  dwelt  alone.  Aunt  Anffsa  had  betaken  herself 
to  a  convent,  and  perhaps  she  would  not  return  thence,  but 
would  die  there  .  .  At  home,  there  was  Ivan,  the  deaf 
old  yard-porter,  Sekletaya,  an  aged  spinster,  who  was  cook 
and  maid,  and  a  shaggy  black  dog,  with  a  snout  as  blunt  as 
that  of  a  sheat-fish.    And  the  dog  was  old  also. 

"  So  be  it,  I  really  ought  to  marry,"  thought  Fomd,  sigh- 
ing. 

But  he  felt  awkward  and  very  ridiculous  at  the  idea  of 
how  easy  it  was  for  him  to  marry.  He  might  say  to  his 
god-father,  the  very  next  day,  that  he  was  to  woo  a  bride, 
and  before  the  month  was  out,  a  woman  would  be  living 
there  in  the  house  with  him.  And  she  would  be  close  to 
him  day  and  night.  He  would  say  to  her:  "  Let's  go  for 
a  walk!"  and  she  would  go.  He  would  say:  "Let's  go 
to  bed!  "  and  again  she  would  go.  If  she  took  a  fancy  to 
kiss  him,  she  would  do  so,  whether  he  liked  it  or  not.  But 
if  he  were  to  say  to  her,  "  I  don't  want  to,  go  away! "  she 
would  feel  insulted.  What  was  he  to  talk  to  her  about? 
And  what  would  she  find  to  say  to  him?  He  meditated,  and 
pictured  to  himself  the  young  ladies  of  his  acquaintance, 
the  daughters  of  merchants.  Several  of  them  were  ex- 
tremely pretty,  and  he  knew  that  any  one  of  them  would 
gladly  marry  him.  But  not  one  of  them  did  he  care  to  see 
beside  him  as  his  wife.  Then  he  recalled  Liiiba  Mayakin. 
She  would  certainly  be  the  first  to  speak,  to  express  herself 
in  some  words  that  were  strange  and  obscure  to  him.  For 
some  reason  or  other,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  her  words 
were  strange  to  him,  and  that  she  did  not  say  what  a  young 
girl  of  her  age,  appearance  and  birth  ought  to  say. 

Then  his  thoughts  came  to  a  halt  over  Liuboff's  com- 
plaints.    He  began  to  walk  more  slowly,  struck  with  the 

178 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

fact,  that  all  the  people  whom  he  knew  in  the  least  inti- 
mately,  or  with  whom  he  conTersed  at  all,  always  talked 
to  him  about  life.  His  father,  and  his  aunt,  his  god-father, 
LiubofI,  Sofya  Pavlovna, — all  of  them  were  either  teach- 
ing him  to  understand  life,  or  complaining  about  it.  He 
recalled  the  words  concerning  fate,  uttered  by  the  old  man 
on  the  steamer,  and  many  other  remarks  regarding  life,  re- 
proaches of  it,  and  bitter  complaints  against  it,  which  he 
had  heard  cursorily  from  various  people. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  said  to  himself,  "what  is 
life,  if  not  people?  But  people  are  always  talking  as 
though  it  were  not  they,  but  something  else  besides  people, 
and  as  though  it  prevented  their  living.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
devil?" 

An  uncanny  sensation  of  fear  seized  upon  the  young 
fellow;  he  shuddered,  and  cast  a  swift  glance  about  him. 
The  street  was  empty  and  silent;  the  dark  windows  of  the 
houses  gazed  out  dully  on  the  nocturnal  gloom,  and  along 
the  walls,  along  the  fences,  Foma's  shadow  followed  him. 

"  Cabby!  "  he  shouted  loudly,  hastening  his  steps.  The 
shadow  gave  a  start,  and  crawled  after  him,  speechless  and 
black.  It  seemed  to  Foma  as  though  a  chill  breath  were 
blowing  on  him  from  behind,  and  that  sometliing  huge, 
invisible  but  dreadful,  were  overtaking  him.  In  his  terror, 
he  almost  ran  to  meet  a  drozhky  which  made  its  appear- 
ance out  of  the  darkness,  from  somewhere  or  other,  and 
when  he  took  his  seat  in  the  carriage,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  looking  behind  him,  although  he  wished  to  do  so. 


179 


VII 

0 

About  a  week  had  elapsed  since  his  conversation  with 
Madame  Med^nsky.  By  day  and  by  night  her  image  stood 
importunately  before  Foma,  breeding  in  his  heart  a  gnaw- 
ing sensation  of  anguish.  He  wanted  to  go  to  her,  and  he 
pined  for  her  so,  that  his  very  bones  ached  with  the  desire 
of  his  heart  to  be  once  more  by  her  side.  But  he  main- 
tained a  surly  silence,  and  would  not  yield  to  the  desire, 
zealously  occupying  himself  with  business  affairs,  and  stir- 
ring up  within  himself  wrath  against  the  woman.  He  felt, 
that  if  he  were  to  go  to  her,  he  would  no  longer  behold  her 
the  same  as  when  he  had  quitted  her,  some  change  must 
have  taken  place  in  her,  after  that  interview  with  him,  and 
she  would  no  longer  greet  him  so  caressingly  as  before, 
she  would  not  smile  upon  him  with  the  clear  smile  which 
had  awakened  in  him  certain  special  ideas  and  hopes.  Fear- 
ing that  this  would  not  be  so,  but  that  something  else  was 
bound  to  be,  he  still  restrained  himself  and  tormented  him- 
self. 

Work,  and  longing  for  the  woman  did  not  prevent  his 
thinking  about  life,  also.  He  did  not  reason  about  this 
problem,  which  had  already  aroused  in  his  heart  an  uneasy 
sensation;  he  did  not  know  how  to  reason,  but  he  began  to 
lend  an  attentive  ear  to  everything  which  people  said  about 
life,  and  to  endeavor  to  remember  these  remarks.  They 
explained  nothing  to  him,  but  only  augmented  his  astonish- 
ment and  begot  in  him  a  suspicious  feeling  toward  them. 
They  were  clever,  acute  and  wise — he  saw  that;  in  business 

180 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

transactions  with  them,  he  found  it  necessary  to  be  always 
on  his  guard;  he  was  already  aware  that,  on  important  oc- 
casions, not  one  of  them  would  utter  what  he  thought.  And 
attentively  observing  them,  he  became  conscious  that  their 
sighs  and  complaints  against  life  aroused  suspicion  in  him. 
Silently,  with  a  distrustful  glance,  he  watched  them  all, 
and  a  fine  wrinkle  began  to  intersect  his  brow. 

One  morning,  on  'Change,  his  god-father  said  to  him: 

"  Ananias  has  arrived. — He  invites  you.  Do  you  go  to 
him  one  of  these  evenings,  and  see  that  you  keep  a  strict 
watch  on  your  tongue  .  .  Ananias  will  set  it  to  swinging, 
to  make  you  ring  about  business  affairs.  He's  a  cunning 
old  devil  .  .  A  fox  from  hell  .  .  he'll  roll  his  eyes 
up  to  heaven,  and  thrust  his  paw  into  your  bosom,  and 
drag  out  your  purse    .    .    Be  on  your  guard." 

"  Do  we  owe  him  anything?  "  asked  Foma. 

*^  Certainly!  The  barge  isn't  paid  for  .  .  and  we  took 
a  hundred  and  fifty  five-fathom  beams  from  him  not  long 
ago  .  .  .  If  he  demands  it  all,  cash  down,  don't  give  it  to 
him.  A  ruble  is  a  sticky  thing;  the  more  it  turns  about  in 
your  hand,  the  greater  will  be  the  number  of  kopeks  which 
will  adhere  to  it  ...  A  ruble  is  like  a  good  pigeon, — 
it  flies  into  the  air,  and  the  first  you  know,  it  brings  a  whole 
flock  back  to  the  dovecote." 

"  But  how  can  I  help  giving  it  to  him,  if  he  demands  it?  " 

"  Let  him  weep  and  implore, — and  do  you  roar,  but  don't 
give." 

"  I'll  go  by  and  by,"  said  Foma. 

x^nanii  Savvitch  Shtchiiroif  was  a  large  dealer  in  lumber, 
had  a  vast  saw-mill,  built  barges,  and  ran  rafts  .  .  He 
had  done  business  with  Ignat,  and  Foma  had  many  a  time 
seen  this  old  man,  tall  and  straight  as  a  pine-tree,  with  his 
great  white  beard,  and  long  arms.     His  big,  handsome 

181 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

figure,  with  its  open  countenance  and  clear  gaze  incited  in 
Foma  a  feeling  of  reverence  for  Shtchuroff,  although  he 
had  heard  people  say  that  this  *'  lumber-dealer  "  had  grown 
wealthy  by  other  means  than  honest  toil,  and  led  an  evil 
life  at  home,  in  an  obscure  hamlet  of  the  forest  region. 
His  father,  too,  had  described  to  Foma,  how  Shtchuroff  in 
his  youth,  while  he  was  still  a  poor  peasant,  had  sheltered 
a  convict  in  his  kitchen-garden,  in  his  bath-house,  and  this 
convict  had  worked  for  him  at  the  manufacture  of  counter- 
feit money.  From  that  day  forth,  Ananii  had  begun  to 
grow  rich.  One  day  his  bath-house  burned  down,  and  in 
its  ashes  there  was  found  the  corpse  of  a  man  with  a  cloven 
skull.  It  was  said  in  the  village,  that  Shtchuroff  himself 
had  murdered  his  workman, — had  murdered  him,  and  then 
burned  him  up.  That  sort  of  thing  had  happened  more 
than  once  with  the  good-looking  old  man;  but  such  tales 
were  related  concerning  many  rich  men  of  the  town, — all 
of  them,  it  was  asserted,  had  amassed  their  millions  by  rob- 
bery, murder,  and — chiefly — by  the  sale  of  counterfeit 
money.  Foma  had  listened  to  such  stories  from  his  child- 
hood up,  and  never  before  had  he  reflected  whether  they 
were  true  or  not.  He  knew  also,  concerning  Shtchuroff, 
that  the  old  man  had  got  rid  of  two  wives, — one  of  them 
had  died  the  very  first  night  after  the  wedding  in  Ananii's 
arms.  Then  he  got  his  son's  wife  away  from  him,  and  his 
son  took  to  drink  through  grief,  and  almost  came  to  ruin 
through  drunkenness,  but  recovered  himself  in  time,  and 
went  off  to  save  himself  in  a  hermitage,  on  the  Irgiz.  But 
when  his  daughter-in-law  mistress  expired,  Shtchuroff  took 
into  his  house  a  dumb  girl — a  pauper, — was  still  living  with 
her,  and  she  had  recently  borne  him  a  dead  child  .  .  . 
As  he  went  to  see  Ananii  at  the  inn  where  the  latter  was 
stopping,  Foma  involuntarily  recalled  all  he  had  heard  about 

183 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

the  old  man  from  his  father  and  from  other  people,  and  he 
was  conscious  that  Shtchiiroff  had  become  terribly  interest- 
ing to  him. 

When  Foma,  on  opening  the  door,  paused  respectfully 
on  the  threshold  of  the  tiny  chamber  with  a  single  win- 
dow, from  which  nothing  was  visible  save  the  rusty  roof 
of  the  neighboring  house, — he  perceived  that  old  Shtchii- 
roff had  only  just  waked  up,  and  was  sitting  on  his  bed, 
propped  up  on  it  by  his  hands,  and  was  staring  at  the  floor, 
so  much  bent  over  that  his  long,  white  beard  lay  on  his 
knees.     But  even  thus  bent,  he  was  large. 

*'  Who  came  in  ?  ^'  Ananii  asked,  without  raising  his 
head,  in  a  husky,  angry  voice. 

"  I.     How  do  you  do,  Ananii  Savvitch  ?  " 

The  old  man  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  screwing  up  his 
large  eyes,  glanced  at  Foma. 

"  Ignat^s  son,  isn't  it  ?  ^' 

"  The  same." 

"Well,  come  here, — sit  down  there,  by  the  window — 
let's  see  what  you  look  like.     Will  you  have  some  tea  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  glad  to." 

"  Corridor- waiter!  "  shouted  the  old  man,  inflating  his 
chest,  and  gathering  up  his  beard  in  his  fist,  he  began  a 
silent  inspection  of  Foma.  Foma  also  furtively  scruti- 
nized him. 

The  old  man's  lofty  brow  was  all  furrowed  with  wrin- 
kles, and  the  skin  upon  it  was  swarthy.  Curly  locks  of 
gray  hair  covered  his  temples  and  his  pointed  ears ;  calm, 
blue  eyes  gave  to  the  upper  portion  of  his  face  a  wise, 
virtuous  expression.  But  his  cheeks  and  lips  were  gross, 
red,  and  seemed  out  of  keeping  with  his  countenance. 
The  long,  thin  nose,  with  its  downward  curve,  seemed  to 
be  endeavoring  to  conceal  itself  in  the  white  mustaches; 

183 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

when  the  old  man  moved  his  lips,  small,  yellow  teeth 
gleamed  from  beneath  them.  He  wore  a  pink  cotton  shirt, 
girt  about  with  a  silken  belt,  and  full  black  trousers 
tucked  into  his  boots.  Foma  eyed  his  lips  and  said  to 
himself  that  the  old  man  certainly  was  the  sort  of  person 
he  was  reported  to  be. 

"As  a  small  boy  you  were  more  like  your  father,"  re- 
marked Shtchiiroff  suddenly,  with  a  sigh.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  he  asked :  "  Do  you  remember  your  father  ?  Do 
you  pray  for  him  ?  " 

"You  must,  you  must  pray! "  he  added,  after  listening 
to  Foma's  brief  reply.  "  Ignat  was  a  great  sinner — and 
he  died  impenitent — struck  down  of  a  sudden — a  great 
sinner ! " 

"  He  was  no  more  sinful,  I  think,  than  others,"  replied 
Foma  with  a  scowl,  taking  offence  on  behalf  of  his  father. 

"Than  whom,  for  example?"  inquired  Shtchuroff 
sternly. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  sinners !  " 

"  There  is  but  one  man  on  earth  more  sinful  than  the 
deceased  Ignat — that  accursed  god-father  of  yours,  Yash- 
ka,"  said  the  old  man,  pronouncing  each  word  with  great 
distinctness. 

"  Are  you  perfectly  sure  of  that  ?  "  asked  Foma,  with  a 
grin. 

"  I  ?  I  know  it ! "  said  Shtchuroff  with  conviction,  nod- 
ding his  head,  and  his  eyes  darkened.  "I,  also,  must 
present  myself  before  the  Lord — and  that  not  lightly. — I 
shall  carry  with  me  a  heavy  burden  before  His  holy  face — 
I  myself,  also,  have  delighted  the  devil — but  I  believe  in 
the  Lord's  mercy,  while  Yashka  believes  in  nothing  at 
all — neither  in  dreams  nor  in  the  twittering  of  birds — 
Yashka  doesn't  believe  in  God — that  I  know!     And  be- 

184 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

cause  he  does  not  believe,  he  will  get  his  punishment  yet, 
on  earth!'' 

"  And  do  you  know  that  also  ?  "  asked  Foma. 

"  That,  also. — Don^t  you  imagine — for  I  know,  also, 
that  you  consider  me  ridiculous  to  listen  to. — A  sharp- 
sighted  fellow,  in  sooth!  But  a  man  who  has  sinned  much, 
is  always  wise.  Sin  teaches  a  man.  Therefore  Yashka 
Mayakin  is  wise  to  a  rare  degree." 

Foma,  as  he  listened  to  the  old  man's  hoarse  and  confi- 
dent voice,  thought  to  himself: 

"  Evidently,  he  scents  death !  " 

The  corridor-waiter,  a  small  man,  with  a  pale  counte- 
nance which  seemed,  as  it  were,  effaced,  brought  in  the 
samovar,  and  hastened  from  the  room  with  swift,  short 
steps.  The  old  man  sorted  over  some  small  parcels  on  the 
window-sill,  and  said,  without  looking  at  Foma: 

"  You're  audacious.  And  your  glance  is  obscure.  There 
used  to  be  more  clear-eyed  folks,  formerly — because  in 
earlier  days,  souls  were  clearer.  Everything  used  to  be 
more  simple — both  people  and  sins — but  now,  everything 
has  become  complicated,  ekhe-he !  " 

He  brewed  the  tea,  seated  himself  opposite  Foma,  and 
began  again: 

"  At  your  age, — your  father  was  a  water-pumper,  and 
then  stopped  near  our  village  with  the  caravan, — at  your 
age,  Ignat  was  as  clear  as  glass  to  me.  All  you  had  to 
do  was  to  look  at  him,  and  you  immediately  saw  what  sort 
of  a  man  he  was.  But  when  I  look  at  you — I  don't  see 
what  you  are.  What  sort  of  a  fellow  are  you?  That's 
what  you  don't  know  yourself,  my  lad — and  that's  why 
you'll  come  to  grief.  All  the  folks  now-a-days  will  come 
to  grief,  because  they  don't  know  themselves.  But  life 
is  a  maze  of  wind-fallen  trees,  and  a  man  must  understand 

185 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

how  to  find  his  way  through  it.  And  everyone  goes  astray, 
and  the  devil  rejoices. — Are  you  married?  " 

"  Not  yet/'  said  Foma. 

"  That's  just  it — not  married,  hut  polluted  long  ago,  I 
suppose. — Well,  and  do  you  work  much  at  your  business  ?  " 

"  Sometimes — Fm  with  my  god-father  for  the  time  be- 
ing." 

"  What  work  have  you  on  hand  now  ?  "  said  the  old  man, 
shaking  his  head,  and  his  eyes  kept  sparkling,  now  dark- 
ening, now  clearing  again. — "  You  have  to  toil !  In  former 
days,  a  merchant  travelled  with  horses  on  his  business — 
he  drove  through  snow-storms,  through  the  night !  Bob- 
bers lay  in  wait  for  him  on  the  road  and  murdered  him — 
he  died  a  martyr,  washing  out  his  sins  with  his  blood.  . 
Now  merchants  travel  in  railway  carriages, — they  send  tel- 
egrams— and  now,  just  think  what  they  have  invented, 
that  a  man  can  talk  in  his  office,  and  he  can  be  heard  five 
versts  away — and  that  can't  be  done  without  the  devil's 
brain!  A  man  sits  and  sins,  simply  because  he's  bored 
with  nothing  to  do:  a  machine  does  everything  for 
him  .  .  and  without  labor,  a  man  is  ruined !  He  has  fit- 
ted himself  out  with  machines,  and  thinks  it  is  all  right ! 
But  machinery  is  the  devil's  trap  for  you!  He  catches 
you  with  it.  Toil  leaves  no  time  for  sin,  but  with  a  ma- 
chine, you're  free!  Through  freedom  man  perishes,  as 
the  worm,  the  inhabitant  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  per- 
ishes in  the  sunlight.     Through  freedom  man  perishes! " 

And  as  old  Ananii  uttered  his  words  distinctly  and  posi- 
tively, he  tapped  the  table  four  times  with  his  finger.  His 
face  beamed  with  spiteful  triumph,  his  breast  swelled 
high,  and  the  silvery  hair  of  his  beard  quivered  noiselessly 
upon  it.  Foma  shuddered  as  he  gazed  at  him  and  listened 
to  his  remarks,  for  in  them  resounded  steadfast  faith,  and 

186- 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

the  strength  of  this  faith  disconcerted  Foma.  He  had 
already  forgotten  everything  he  knew  about  the  old 
man, — and  he  had  believed  it  to  be  the  truth  only  a  short 
time  before. 

"  He  who  gives  freedom  to  the  body  ruins  the  soul !  '^ 
said  Ananii,  and  gazed  very  strangely  at  Foma,  as  though 
he  perceived  behind  him  someone  who  was  pained  and 
terrified  at  the  sound  of  his  words,  and  whose  pain  and  ter- 
ror delighted  him. — "  And  all  of  you  people  of  the  pres- 
ent day  will  perish  through  freedom.  The  devil  has  laid 
hold  of  you — he  has  deprived  you  of  your  toil,  by  forcing 
upon  you  his  machines  and  telegrams. — And  freedom  will 
devour  the  souls  of  men. — Come  now,  tell  me,  why  are 
children  worse  than  their  fathers  ?  Because  of  freedom, 
— yes !  Because  they  drink,  and  lead  depraved  lives  with 
women — and  they  have  less  health  because  they  have  less 
work — and  then  have  no  cheerfulness  of  spirit  because 
they  have  no  cares.  Joy  comes  in  time  of  repose — but 
no  one  rests  now-a-days." 

"  Well,"  said  Foma  softly,  "  I  suppose  men  drank  and 
led  depraved  lives  just  as  much,  in  former  days." 

"  Do  you  know  ?  You'd  better  hold  your  tongue ! " 
shouted  Ananii,  with  a  morose  flash  of  the  eye.  "Men 
had  more  strength  in  those  days — and  their  sins  were  ac- 
cording to  their  strength.  Then  people  were  like  oaks. 
And  the  judgment  of  the  Lord  upon  them  will  be  accord- 
ing to  their  strength.  Their  bodies  will  be  weighed,  and 
the  angels  will  measure  their  blood  .  .  and  the  angels 
of  God  will  see  to  it  that  their  sin  shall  not  exceed  in 
weight  the  weight  of  their  blood  and  their  body — do  you 
understand?  The  Lord  will  not  condemn  a  wolf  if  it  de- 
vours a  sheep, — but  if  a  miserable  little  rat  is  guilty  of  kill- 
ing a  sheep — He  will  condemn  the  rat!  " 

187 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"How  do  folks  know  in  what  way  God  will  judge  a 
man  ?  "  asked  Foma  thoughtfully.  "  A  visible  judgment 
is  necessary/' 

"  Why  a  visible  judgment  ?  " 

''  That  folks  may  understand.'^ 

"  And  who,  save  God,  is  to  be  my  judge  ?  '* 

Foma  glanced  at  the  old  man,  and  made  no  reply,  but 
dropped  his  head.  Again  he  recalled  to  mind  the  fugitive 
convict,  whom  Shtchuroff  had  murdered  and  burned,  and 
again  he  believed  that  this  was  so.  And  the  women — his 
wife  and  his  mistress — whom  this  old  man  had  certainly 
hunted  into  their  graves  with  his  oppressive  caresses,  had 
crushed  with  his  bony  breast,  the  sap  of  whose  life  he  had 
drunk  with  those  thick  lips  which  were  even  now  scarlet, 
as  though  the  blood  were  not  yet  dry  on  them  of  the 
women  who  had  died  in  the  embrace  of  his  long,  sinewy 
arms.  And  here  was  he,  awaiting  death,  which  was  al- 
ready somewhere  near  him,  reckoning  up  his  sins,  con- 
demning people  and  condemning  himself,  of  necessity — 
and  saying:    "  Who,  save  God,  is  to  be  my  judge?  " 

"Is  he  afraid  or  not?"  Foma  asked  himself,  and  fell 
into  meditation,  as  he  furtively  scrutinized  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  my  lad !  reflect, — "  said  Shtchuroff,  wagging  his 
head, — "  reflect,  how  you  are  to  live.  You  have  small  cap- 
ital in  your  heart,  and  big  habits — aren't  you  going  to  be- 
come bankrupt  to  yourself !     Ho-ho-ho !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  what  and  how  much  I  have  in  my 
heart  ?  "  said  Foma  grufiiy,  insulted  by  his  laughter. 

"Why,  I  can  see!  I  know  everything — ^because — I've 
been  alive  for  a  long  time!  0-o-ho-ho!  What  a  long 
time  I  have  lived !  Trees  have  grown  up  and  been  hewn 
down,  and  houses  have  been  built  from  them — and  the 
houses  have  even  become  decrepit — and  I  have  beheld  it 

188 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

all  and  am  still  alive.  And  sometimes,  as  I  recall  my  life, 
I  say  to  myself :  '  Is  it  possible  that  one  man  could  have 
done  so  much?  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  undergone  all 
that  ? '  '^ — The  old  man  cast  a  stern  glance  at  Foma,  shook 
his  head,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

Silence  reigned.  Outside  the  window,  on  the  roof  of 
the  house,  there  was  a  faint  crackling  sound;  the  noise  of 
wheels,  and  the  subdued  voices  of  people  in  conversation, 
was  borne  up  from  the  street  below.  The  samovar  on  the 
table  sang  its  melancholy  song.  Shtchiiroff  stared  intent- 
ly at  his  glass  of  tea,  and  stroked  his  beard — and  a  husky 
noise  was  audible  in  his  chest,  as  though  some  heavy 
weight  were  being  shifted  about  there. 

"  Is  it  difficult  for  you  to  live  without  your  father  ?  *' 
his  voice  rang  out. 

"  I'm  getting  used  to  it,"  replied  Foma. 

"You're  rich.  And  when  Yakoff  dies,  you'll  be  still 
richer     .     .     he'll  bequeath  all  to  you." 

"  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Where  else  should  he  leave  it  ?  He  has  only  a  daugh- 
ter,— and  you  ought  to  take  the  daughter.  .  What  if 
she  is  your  god-sister  and  foster-sister — there's  no  harm 
in  that!  That  can  be  arranged.  And  you  ought  to  get 
married.  .  .  What's  the  use  of  leading  a  bachelor's 
life  ?     I  suppose  you  are  still  running  after  the  girls  ?  " 

"  No." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Eh-khe-khe!  The  merchant  is 
dying  out.  A  forester  once  told  me — whether  he  was 
lying  or  not,  I  don't  know — that  in  former  times,  all  dogs 
were  wolves,  and  the  wolves  degenerated  into  dogs.  It's  the 
same  way  with  our  class — ^we,  also,  shall  soon  all  be  dogs. 
We  study  the  sciences,  and  stick  fashionable  hats  on  our 
polls,  and  do  everything  that's  necessary  to  lose  our  char- 

189 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

acteristic  features.  And  there's  no  way  of  distinguishing 
us  from  other  folks.  We've  instituted  the  custom  of 
sending  all  our  children  to  the  gymnasium.  And  mer- 
chants, and  nobles  and  commoners  are  all  forced  to  become 
of  the  same  color — they  are  all  dressed  in  gray  and  taught 
alike, — and  they  grow  men  as  they  grow  trees.  Why? 
Nobody  knows.  Even  one  log  of  wood  is  known  from  an- 
other by  its  grain, — but  here  people  are  trying  to  plane 
off  men  so  that  all  shall  have  but  one  face. — We  old  folks 
will  soon  be  buried — ye-es !  Perhaps  no  one  will  believe, 
fifty  years  or  so  hence,  that  I  lived  in  the  world,  I  .  . 
Ananii,  the  son  of  Savva,  by  surname  Shtchuroff — so 
there!  And  that  I,  Ananii,  feared  no  one  except  God. 
And  that  I  was  a  peasant  in  my  youth,  and  had  two  and 
a  half  desyatins  ^  of  land,  and  in  my  old  age  had  amassed 
eleven  thousand  desyatins,  and  all  forest-land — and  in 
money,  perhaps  about  two  millions." 

"  That's  what  they  always  say — money  ?  "  said  Foma 
with  displeasure. — "  But  what  joy  does  a  man  get  from 
it?" 

"Mm  .  .  " grunted  Shtchuroff.— "  You'll  make  a  bad 
merchant,  if  you  don't  understand  the  power  of  money." 

"  Who  does  understand  it  ?  "  asked  Foma. 

"I!"  said  Shtchuroff  confidently.  "And  so  does  every 
sensible  man  —  Yashka  understands  money.  That's  a 
great  deal,  my  lad !  Spread  it  out  before  you  and  reflect — 
what  does  it  contain  within  itself  ?  Then  you  will  under- 
stand, that  all  this  is  the  power  of  mankind,  that  it  is  the 
brains  of  men.  .  Thousands  of  persons  have  staked 
their  lives  on  your  money,  and  thousands  are  still  doing  it. 
And  you  can  fling  all  that  money  into  the  fire,  and  watch 

» A  desyatin  is  2.70  acres. —  Translator, 
190 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

how  it  burns.  And  at  that  moment,  you  will  regard  your- 
self as  the  master." 

"  People  donH  do  that." 

*^  Because  fools  donH  have  money.  Money  is  invested 
in  business, — through  business  the  masses  are  fed, — and 
you  are  the  master  over  all  those  masses.  Why  did  God 
create  man?  That  man  might  pray  to  Him.  He  was 
alone,  and  He  found  it  tiresome  to  be  alone — well,  and 
He  also  craved  power.  And  as  man  was  created  in  His 
image  and  in  His  likeness,  as  it  is  written,  man  also  craves 
power.  And  what,  except  money,  gives  power? — So  there 
you  have  it. — Well,  and  have  you  brought  me  any  money  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Foma.  The  old  man's  talk  had  made 
his  head  feel  heavy  and  turbid,  and  he  was  glad  that  the 
conversation  had  passed  at  last,  to  business. 

"  That's  unjust !  "  said  Shtchiiroff,  knitting  his  brows 
sternly.     "  The  time  is  up — you  must  pay." 

"  To-morrow  you  shall  receive  one  half.     .     ." 

"  Why  one  half  ?     Give  me  all !  " 

"  Why,  we  are  in  great  need  of  money  just  now." 

"  And  you  haven't  got  it  ?     But  I  must  have  it." 

"Wait!" 

"  Eh,  my  good  fellow,  I  won't  wait !  You  are  not  your 
father, — your  sort,  the  milksop  sort,  are  unreliable  folks — 
in  the  course  of  a  month,  you  may  get  the  whole  business 
tangled  up — and  I  shall  suffer  loss  in  consequence.  You 
just  give  me  the  whole  tomorrow,  or  I'll  protest  the  note. 
I  want  it  right  away !  " 

Foma  looked  at  Shtchuroff  and  was  amazed.  He  was 
not  at  all  the  same  old  man,  who  had  so  lately  been  talk- 
ing about  the  devil  with  the  mien  of  a  trance-seer.  His 
face  and  his  eyes  had  been  quite  different  then, — but  now 
his  look  was  harsh,  his  lips  wore  a  pitiless  smile,  and  cer- 

191 


Fom^  Gordyeeff 

tain  sinews  in  his  cheeks,  round  ahoiit  his  nostrils,  quivered 
greedily.  Foma  perceived  that  if  he  did  not  pay  up  on 
time  the  man  really  would  not  spare  him,  but  would  in- 
stantly disgrace  the  firm  by  protesting  the  note. 

"  Evidently,  your  affairs  are  in  a  bad  shape  ?  "  grinned 
Shtchiiroff.  "  Come,  say  frankly — where  have  you  squan- 
dered 3^our  fa  therms  money?" 

Foma  felt  a  desire  to  test  the  old  man. 

"  Business  isn't  very  brisk,"  he  said,  with  a  frown, 
"there  are  no  contracts,  we  have  received  no  earnest- 
money, — well,  and  things  are  going  rather  hard." 

"  So-o !     You  want  assistance  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good — pray  remit  the  payment,"  en- 
treated Foma,  modestly  lowering  his  eyes. 

"Mm.  .  So  Fm  to  aid  you  out  of  friendship?  All 
right,  I'll  help  you.     ." 

"  How  much  time  will  you  give  me  ?  "  inquired  Foma. 

"  Say  six  months." 

"  I  thank  you  humbly." 

"  No  need.  Your  debt  is  eleven  thousand  six  hundred. 
Now,  this  is  what  you  are  to  do :  make  me  out  a  note  for 
fifteen  thousand,  pay  the  interest  on  that  sum  in  advance, 
— and  as  security,  I'll  take  a  mortgage  on  both  your 
barges.     ." 

"  Send  the  note  to  me  to-morrow.     I'll  pay  you  in  full." 

Shtchuroff  rose  heavily  from  his  chair,  and  without 
dropping  his  eyes  before  Foma's  sarcastic  gaze,  he  calmly 
scratched  his  breast  as  he  said: 

"  Very  well." 

"  Thanks — for  your  kindness." 

"  That's  nothing !  If  you  hadn't  paid  up,  I'd  have  been 
kind  to  you ! "  said  the  old  man  indolently,  displaying  his 
teeth  in  a  snarl. 

102 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Ye-es !    If  anyone  falls  into  your  clutches.     .     .'' 

"  He'll  find  it  warm.     /' 

"  You'll  make  it  hot  for  him,  there's  no  denying  that." 

"  Come  now,  I  say,  my  lad,  stop  that !  "  said  ShtchiiroS 
grimly.  "  Although  you  think  yourself  anything  but 
stupid — it's  early  in  the  day.  .  He  played  for  nothing, 
and  now  he  has  begun  to  brag  of  his  winnings !  You  just 
win  something  from  me,  and  then  you  may  caper  with 
joy. — Good-bye.     Get  ready  your  money  for  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  worry.     .     .     Good-bye !  " 

"God  be  with  you!" 

As  Foma  emerged  from  the  room,  he  heard  the  old  man 
give  a  prolonged,  loud  yawn,  and  then  begin  to  chant,  in 
a  husky  bass  voice : 

"  Of  thy  me-er-cy  open  unto  us  the  door,  Oh  blessed 
Birth-Giver  of  God." 

Foma  bore  away  with  him  from  the  old  man  a  twofold 
feeling:  Shtchuroff  both  pleased  him  and,  at  the  same 
time,  repelled  him. 

He  recalled  the  old  man's  remarks  concerning  sin,  he 
meditated  on  his  faith  in  God's  mercy, — and  the  old  man 
aroused  in  him  a  sentiment  that  was  akin  to  reverence. 
"  And  this  one,  also,  talks  about  life — and  he  knows  his 
sins,  but  he  does  not  weep,  he  does  not  complain.  .  . 
*  I  have  sinned — I  will  bear  the  consequences.' — Well — 
and  she  ?  " 

He  remembered  Madame  Med^nsky,  and  his  heart  con- 
tracted with  grief. 

"  But  she — repents  .  .  you  can't  understand,  in  her 
ease,  whether  she  does  it  deliberately,  in  order  to  escape 
judgment,  or  whether  her  heart  really  aches. — Who  shall 
judge  me,  save  God,  he  says.     So  there  you  have  it! " 

It  seemed  to  Fomd  that  he  envied  Ananii,  and  the  young 

193 


Foma  Gordy6eff 

fellow  hastened  to  remind  himself  of  Shtchuroff's  at- 
tempts to  cheat  him.  This  evoked  in  him  disgust  for  the 
old  man,  he  could  not  reconcile  his  feelings,  and  in  his 
bewilderment,  he  began  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  have  been  to  see  Shtchtiroff !  '^  he  said,  as  he 
reached  Mayakin's  house  and  seated  himself  at  the  table. 

Mayakin,  clad  in  a  dirty  dressing-gown,  and  counting- 
board  in  hand,  wriggled  impatiently  in  his  leather  arm- 
chair, and  said  briskly: 

"Pour  him  out  some  tea,  Liubava!  Go  on,  Fomd.  I 
must  be  at  the  City  Council  by  nine  o'clock,  so  tell  us 
quickly." 

Foma,  laughingly,  narrated  how  Shtchuroff  had  pro- 
posed that  he  should  re-write  the  note  of  hand. 

"E-Ekh!"  exclaimed  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  regretfully, 
shaking  his  head. — "  You  have  spoiled  the  whole  dinner, 
my  dear  fellow!  How  can  one  deal  straightforwardly  with 
the  man?  Phew!  The  evil  one  prompted  me  to  sen-d  you! 
I  ought  to  have  gone  myself.  IM  have  wound  him  round 
my  finger! " 

"  Come  now,  not  much!    He  says — '  I'm  an  oak ' — ." 

"An  oak?  Well,  I'm  a  saw  .  .  .  An  oak!  An  oak 
is  a  fine  tree,  but  its  fruits  are  fit  only  for  swine.  So  it 
turns  out  that  the  oak  is  downright  stupid." 

"  Well,  but  we  must  pay  up,  all  the  same." 

"  There's  no  hurry  about  that — with  clever  people.  But 
you  are  ready  to  rush  off  at  top  speed  to  pay  that  money  .  . 
You,  a  merchant! " 

Yakoff  Tarasovitch  was  decidedly  displeased  with  his  god- 
son. He  frowned,  and  angrily  commanded  his  daughter, 
who  was  pouring  the  tea  in  silence: 

"  Push  the  sugar  this  way  .  .  don't  you  see  that  I  can't 
reach  it?" 

194 


Foma  Gordyeefif 

liuboff's  face  was  pale,  her  eyes  were  troubled,  and  her 
hands  moved  languidly,  awkwardly.  Foma  glanced  at  her, 
and  said  to  himself: 

"  How  meek  she  is  when  her  father  is  present!  " 

"  What  did  he  talk  to  you  about?  "  Mayakin  asked  him. 

"  About  sins." 

"  Well,  of  course !  Every  man  sets  a  high  value  on  his 
own  business  .  .  and  he's  a — manufacturer  of  sins. 
They've  been  weeping  for  him  this  long  time  past  in  the 
galleys  and  in  hell — pining  for  him,  waiting  for  him — 
they're  in  a  hurry  to  see  him." 

"  He  speaks  with  weight, — "  said  Foma  thoughtfully,  as 
he  stirred  his  tea  in  the  glass. 

"Did  he  revile  me?"  inquired  Mayakin,  with  a  vicious 
contortion  of  face. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  what  did  you  do?  " 

"Well,  I     .    .    Ihstened." 

"  Mm    .    .    what  did  you  hear?  " 

"  A  strong  man  wins  pardon,  he  says,  but  for  a  weak  man 
there  is  no  pardon." 

"  Wisdom  itself,  you  think!  Why,  the  very  fleas  know 
that! " 

The  scornful  bearing  of  his  god-father  toward  Shtchuroff 
irritated  Foma,  for  some  reason  or  other,  and,  looking  the 
old  man  in  the  face,  he  said  with  a  grin: 

"  And  he  doesn't  love  you." 

"Nobody  loves  me,  my  dear  fellow!"  said  Mayakin 
proudly.  "  And  they  have  no  cause  to  love  me,  I'm  not  a 
girl.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  they  do  respect  me.  And 
only  those  are  respected  who  are  feared." 

And  the  old  man  bestowed  a  boastful  wink  upon  his  god- 
son. 

195 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"He  speaks  with  weight/'  repeated  Fomd.  "He  com- 
plains. The  genuine  merchant  is  dying  out,  he  says.  He 
says  that  all  people  are  now  taught  alike, — so  that  all  may 
be  alike, — with  one  face." 

"  He  thinks  that  is  not  proper?  " 

"  Evidently,  he  thinks  so." 

"  The  fo-ol!  "  drawled  Mayakin  disdainfully. 

"Why?  Is  this  good?"  asked  Foma,  with  a  distrustful 
glance  at  his  god-father. 

"  What  is  good,  we  don't  know,  but  what  is  sensible,  that 
we  can  see  .  . — If  we  see  that  divers  people  are  driven 
together  in  one  place,  and  that  there  one  opinion  is  im- 
pressed on  them  all,  we  must  acknowledge  that  that  is  sen- 
sible. Because, — what  is  a  man  in  the  Empire?  Nothing 
more  than  a  simple  brick,  but  all  the  bricks  must  be  of  the 
same  size,  ...  do  you  understand?  And  people  who 
are  all  identical  in  height  and  weight — I  can  place  as  I 
please." 

"  Who  finds  it  pleasant  to  be  a  brick?  "  said  Foma  surlily. 

"  'Tis  not  a  question  as  to  what  is  pleasant,  but  as  to  the 
fact.  If  you  are  made  of  firm  material,  you'll  not  get  worn 
away.  It's  not  everyone  that  can  rub  his  own  phiz  .  .  but 
if  you  beat  some  men  with  a  hammer,  they  may  turn  out 
to  be  gold.  But  if  a  man's  pate  cracks,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?    It  simply  shows  that  it  was  weak." 

"  He  also  talked  about  labor, — '  everything  is  done  by 
machinery,'  he  said,  'and  people  are  getting  spoiled  with 
it.' " 

"  That  old  woman  doesn't  know  what  he's  talking 
about ! "  said  Mayakin,  with  a  scornful  wave  of  the  hand. 
*'  It's  amazing  to  me,  what  an  appetite  you  have  for  all  sorts 
of  nonsense!    Why  is  it?  " 

"And  it  isn't  true?"  asked  Fomd,  with  a  gloomy  smile. 

196 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"What  true  thing  can  he  know?  Machinery!  That  old 
blockhead  had  better  reflect  what  a  machine  is.  Iron!  con- 
sequently, you  have  no  pity  on  it,  once  set  up,  it  forges 
rubles  for  you,  without  any  words,  without  any  trouble; 
set  it  going,  and  it  keeps  on  going.  But  a  man — he  is 
uneasy  and  pitiful, — he  becomes  a  very  pitiful  creature  in- 
deed, at  times;  he  howls  and  grieves,  and  weeps  and  im- 
plores— he  drinks  himself  drunk, — and  he  has,  akh!  how 
much  that  is  quite  superfluous  to  me!  But  a  machine,  like 
a  yard-stick,  contains  precisely  what  its  use  requires,  and 
no  more. — Well,  Fm  going  to  dress  .  .  ^tis  time."  He 
rose  and  went  away,  shuffling  his  slippers  noisily  across  the 
floor.  Foma  gazed  after  him,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  knit- 
ting his  brows: 

"  The  deuce  himself  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  it  all 
— one  says  one  thing,  the  other  another." 

"And  it's  the  same  way  with  the  books,"  said  Liuboff 
softly. 

Foma  glanced  at  her,  smiling  kindly.  And  she  responded 
with  an  uncertain  smile.    Her  eyes  looked  weary  and  sad. 

"  You  still  keep  on  reading?  "  asked  Fomd. 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  the  girl  dejectedly. 

"And  you  still  feel  melancholy?" 

"  Disgustingly. — Because  Fm  alone.  There's  nobody  to 
say  a  word  to." 

"  You're  in  a  bad  fix." 

To  this  she  made  no  reply,  but  only  dropped  her  head, 
and  began  slowly  to  pass  her  fingers  through  the  fringe  of 
the  towel. 

"  You  ought  to  marry,"  said  Foma,  feeling  sorry  for  her. 

"  Stop  that,  please,"  replied  Liuboff,  wrinkling  her  brow 
in  an  ugly  way. 

"  Stop  what  ?    Of  course  you  will  marry    .    ." 

197 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Exactly! "  cried  the  girl  softly  with  a  sigh.—"  That's 
exactly  what  I  think — I  must — that  is  to  say,  I  shall  have 
to  marry.  But  how  does  one  get  married  Do  you  know 
— I  feel  now  as  though  a  mist  hung  between  me  and  other 
people — a  thick,  thick  mist! '' 

"  From  the  books/'  interposed  Foma,  with  conviction. 

"Wait!  And  I  am  beginning  not  to  understand  what 
is  going  on.  Nothing  pleases  me.  I  have  become  averse  to 
everything.  Nothing  is  as  it  should  be,  nothing  is  right  .  . 
I  perceive,  I  understand  this,  but  say  that  things  are  not 
right,  and  why  they  are  not  right — I  cannot." 

"  It's  not  right,  not  right,"  muttered  Foma. — "  It  comes 
to  you  from  your  books, — yes  it  does.  Although  I,  also, 
feel  that  things  are  not  as  they  should  be  .  .  .  That  may 
come  from  the  fact  that  we  are  both  young  still,  from  our 
stupidity." 

"  At  first  it  seemed  to  me,"  said  Liuboff,  paying  no  heed 
to  him,  "that  I  understood  everything  in  the  books  .  . 
But  now — ." 

"  Give  them  up!  "  counselled  Foma,  scornfully. 

"Ah,  enough  of  that!  Is  it  possible  to  give  them  up? 
You  know,  how  many  different  ideas  there  are  in  the  world! 
There  are  some  which  scorch  your  brain.  In  one  book  it 
is  asserted  that  everything  which  exists  on  earth  is  en- 
dowed with  reason — ." 

"Everything?"  queried  Foma. 

"Everything!  And  in  another — the  contrary  is  as- 
serted!" 

"  My  patience!    Isn't  that  nonsense?  " 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  Mayakin,  ap- 
pearing on  the  doorway,  dressed  in  a  long  frock-coat,  with 
some  sort  of  medals  around  his  neck,  and  on  his  breast. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Liuboif  gloomily. 

198 


Foma  Gordy^efif 

"  About  books,"  added  Foma. 

''What  books?" 

"  Why,  she  is  reading — she  has  read,  that  everything  on 
earth  is  endowed  with  reason." 

"Well!" 

"  Well — and  I  say^  it^s  stuff  and  nonsense!  '^ 

"  Hm — ye-es."  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  reflected,  plucking  at 
his  beard  and  screwing  up  his  eyes  the  while. 

"  What  sort  of  a  book  is  it?  "  he  inquired  of  his  daugh- 
ter, after  a  pause. 

"A  little  one — with  a  yellow  cover,"  said  Liuboff  re- 
luctantly. 

"  You  just  put  it  on  my  table.  That  was  said  to  make 
mischief — that  everything  on  earth  has  reason!  *  .  You 
see  .  .  someone  has  taken  it  into  his  head  .  .  Hm — 
ye-es^that's  even  expressed  very  skilfully  .  .  And  if  it 
weren^t  for  the  fools,  it  would  be  perfectly  true.  But  as 
fools  are  always  to  be  found  where  they  don't  belong, — 'tis 
impossible  to  say  that  everything  on  earth  is  endowed  with 
reason. — But  I'll  take  a  look  at  that  little  book — perhaps  it 
has  some  sense  in  it  .  .  Good-bye,  Foma!  Are  you  going 
to  sit  on  here,  or  to  drive  with  me?  " 

"  I'll  sit  here  a  while." 

"Well,  all  right." 

Liuboff  and  Foma  were  again  left  alone  together. 

*'  What  a  man  he  is,"  said  Foma,  with  a  nod  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  departing  god-father. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  He  has  a  retort  for  everything,  he  wants  to  cover  every- 
thing up  with  his  remarks." 

"  Ye-es,  he's  clever.— But  what  he  does  not  understand 
is — ^how  difficult  life  is  for  me,"  said  Liuboff  sadly. 

"Neither  do  I  understand  it — ^you  imagine  a  lot  of 
things    .    ." 

199 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

*' What  do  I  imagine?  "  cried  the  girl  in  exasperation. 

"Why,  all  that — surely,  those  are  not  your  ideas — they 
are  someone  else's    .    ." 

"  Someone  else's — someone  else's    .    ." 

She  was  on  the  point  of  saying  something  sharp,  but 
broke  off,  and  held  her  peace.  Foma  looked  at  her,  and 
setting  Madame  Medynsky  beside  her,  he  said  mournfully 
to  himself: 

"  How  different  everything  is — ^both  men  and  women — 
and  you  always  feel  the  difference    .    ." 

They  sat  opposite  each  other,  both  buried  in  thought,  and 
neither  looked  at  the  other. 

Twilight  was  descending  out  of  doors,  and  in  the  room 
it  was  already  quite  dark.  The  breeze  was  rocking  the 
linden  trees,  their  boughs  were  scratching  against  the  walls 
of  the  house,  as  though  they  were  cold,  and  were  entreat- 
ing admittance  to  the  rooms. 

"  Liuba!  "  said  Foma  softly. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  know — I  have  qua-quarrelled  with  Madame 
Medynsky." 

"  What  about?  "  asked  Liuboff,  with  increased  animation. 

"  Oh,  because — ^it  came  about  that  she  insulted  me^  .  . 
insulted   .    ." 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  that  you  have  quarrelled  with 
her,"  said  the  girl  approvingly,  "  otherwise,  she  would  have 
turned  your  head  .  .  she's  a  worthless  creature,  a  co- 
quette .  .  she's  worse — ugh!  what  things  I  know  about 
her! " 

"  She's  not  a  worthless  creature  at  all,"  said  Foma  mo- 
rosely. "  And  you  don't  know  anything — you're  just  talk- 
ing nonsense! " 

"  Oh,  excuse  me!  " 

200 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Now  see  here,  Liiiba,"  said  Foma  softly  and  implor- 
ingly, "  don't  you  say  anything  bad  about  her  to  me — I 
won't  have  it.  I  know  everything,  by  heaven!  She  told  me 
herself! " 

"  He-erself  ?  ! ''  exclaimed  Liuboff  in  amazement.  "  Well 
— she  is  a  strange  creature!    What  did  she  say?  " 

"  *  I  am  guilty,' "  articulated  Foma,  with  an  effort,  with 
a  wry  smile. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  There  was  a  sound  of  disappointment  in 
the  girl's  question:  Foma  recognized  it,  and  inquired,  hope- 
fully: 

"Isn't  that  enough?" 

"What's  the  next  step?" 

"  That's  exactly  what  I'm  thinking  about." 

"  Are  you — very  fond  of  her?  " 

Foma  made  no  reply  for  a  while,  stared  out  of  the  win- 
dow, then  answered: 

"I  don't  know. — I  think  I  am — ^more  now  than  be- 
fore   .    .    ." 

"  Before  your  quarrel?  " 

"  Yes." 

"I'm  astonished;  how  can  you  love  such  a  woman?" 
asked  the  girl,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"  Such  a  woman?    Of  course  I  can!  "  exclaimed  Fomd. 

"  I  don't  understand  .  .  No,  it's  only  because  you  have 
become  attached  to  her,  that  it's  better  you  should  not  see 
her." 

"  Not  see  her! "  assented  Foma,  and,  after  a  pause,  he 
added  irresolutely: — "  Perhaps  there  is  no  one  better   .    ." 

"  Among  our  people,"  interposed  Liuboff. 

"  I  need  her — very  much!  Because,  you  see,  I'm  ashamed 
in  her  presence  1 " 

"Why  so?" 

201 


Foma  Gordy^efif 

"  In  general.  I'm  afraid  of  her — that  is  to  say,  I  don't 
want  her  to  think  ill  of  me — as  she  does  of  others.  Some- 
times I'm  disgusted!  I  say  to  myself — shall  I  go  on  a 
spree  until  all  my  nerves  begin  to  jingle?  Then  I  recall 
her,  and  can't  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it.  And  it's  the 
same  about  everything — I  think  of  her:  and  what  if  she 
were  to  hear  of  it?    And  I'm  afraid  to  do  it." 

"  Ye-es/'  drawled  the  girl  thoughtfully,  "  that  means  that 
you  love  her.  If  I  were  in  love,  I'd  think  of  the  man  in 
the  same  way — what  he  would  say." 

"  And  everything  about  her  is — peculiar,"  went  on  Fomd 
softly,  "  she's  so  beautiful.  Oh  Lord,  how  beautiful!  And 
so  tiny,  like  a  child." 

"  What  took  place  between  you?  "  asked  Liuboff. 

Foma  moved  himself  and  his  chair  closer  to  her,  and 
bending  over,  and,  for  some  reason,  lowering  his  voice,  be- 
gan his  story.  He  talked  on,  and  in  proportion  as  he  re- 
called the  words  which  Madame  Medjmsky  had  said  to  him, 
the  feelings  evoked  by  those  words  rose  again. 

"I  said  to  her — *  Oh,  you  creature!  You've  been  play- 
ing with  me — why?'"  said  Foma,  angrily  and  reproach- 
fully. But  Liiiba,  with  a  flush  of  excitement  on  her  cheeks, 
encouraged  him  with  an  approving  nod: 

"Exactly!  That  was  good!  Well,  and  what  did  she 
say?" 

"  She  made  no  reply! "  said  Foma  sadly,  twitching  his 
shoulders. — "  That  is,  she  said — various  things — ^but  what 
of  that?  " 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  ceased.  Liiiba  toyed  with  her 
braid  of  hair,  and  maintained  silence  also.  The  samovar 
had  already  become  extinguished.  The  darkness  in  the 
room  grew  more  and  more  intense,  the  outlook  through  the 
windows  had  a  sort  of  turbid  aspect,  and  the  black  branches 

202 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

of  the  lindens  swayed  to  and  fro,  in  a  melancholy  way, 
there  outside. 

"  You  might  light  up/'  resumed  Foma. 

"  What  unhappy  creatures  you  and  I  both  are,"  said 
Liiiba,  and  sighed. 

This  displeased  Foma. 

"  I'm  not  unhappy,"  he  retorted,  in  a  firm  tone.  "  I  sim- 
ply haven't  yet  got  used  to  living." 

"  The  man  who  does  not  know  what  iiC  is  going  to  do 
tomorrow,  is  unhappy!  "  said  Liiiba  sadly.  "  And  I  don't 
know.  Neither  do  you.  And  whither  are  we  to  go?  But 
go  we  must.  For  some  reason  or  other,  my  heart  is  never  at 
rest  .  .  it  is  perpetually  quivering,  and  in  it  there  is 
some  longing    .    ." 

"  It's  the  same  with  me,"  said  Foma. — *'  I  began  to  think 
— ^but  what  about?  I  can't  explain  to  myself — and  my 
heart,  too,  is  heavy.  Ekh! — But  I  must  go  to  the 
Club." 

"  Don't  go  away,"  entreated  Liiiba. 

"  I  must,  someone  is  expecting  me  there.  I  must  go. 
Good-bye!" 

"  Until  we  meet  again!  "  She  offered  him  her  hand,  and 
gazed  mournfully  into  his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  going  to  bed  ?  "  asked  Foma,  pressing  her  hand 
vigorously. 

"  I  shall  read  a  little." 

"You  behave  to  your  books  as  a  drunkard  does  to  his 
brandy,"  said  the  young  fellow  with  sympathy. 

"  What  is  there  that's  better?  " 

As  he  walked  along  the  street,  he  glanced  at  the  windows 
of  the  house,  and  in  one  of  them  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Liiiba's  face.  It  was  as  indefinite  as  was  everything  which 
the  girl  had  said  to  him,  as  were  her  longings.     Foma 

203 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

nodded  to  her,  and  with  a  conscious  sensation  of  his  su- 
periority over  her,  he  said  to  himself: 

"  And  she  has  lost  her  way  too — like  the  other  one." 

At  this  memory,  he  shook  his  head,  as  though  desirous  of 
frightening  oS  the  thought  of  Madame  Medynsky,  and  has- 
tened his  pace. 

Night  had  arrived,  and  it  was  cool.  A  cold,  invigorating 
breeze  swept,  in  gusts,  through  the  street,  driving  the  litter 
along  the  sidewalks,  and  casting  dust  in  the  faces  of  passers- 
by.  It  was  dark,  and  several  persons  were  striding  hastily 
through  the  gloom.  Foma  frowned  with  the  dust,  screwed 
-.^p  his  eyes,  and  said  to  himself: 

-  "  If  a  woman  meets  me  now — it  will  be  a  sign  that  Sofya 
Pavlovna  will  greet  me  cordially,  as  of  old.  I  will  call  on 
her  tomorrow.  But  if  it  be  a  man — I  will  not  go  to  her 
tomorrow,    .     .    1^11  wait  a  while  longer." 

A  dog  met  him,  and  this  irritated  him  to  such  a  degree, 
that  he  wanted  to  thrash  the  dog  with  his  cane. 

In  the  buffet  of  the  Club,  jolly  Ukhtishtcheff  met  him. 
He  was  standing  near  the  door,  chatting  with  a  fat  man 
with  whiskers,  but,  on  catching  sight  of  Gordyeeff,  he  went 
to  meet  him,  smihng  and  saying: 

"How  are  you,  my  modest  young  millionaire!" 

His  merry  character  pleased  Foma,  who  always  liked  to 
meet  him.  Pressing  Ukhtishtcheff's  hand  vigorously  and 
good-naturedly,  Foma  asked  him: 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  am  modest?  " 

"  He  asks!  A  man  who  lives  like  a  hermit,  doesn't  drink, 
doesn't  gamble,  doesn't  love  the  women — ah,  yes!  Do  you 
know,  Foma  Ignatievitch?  Our  incomparable  patroness  is 
going  abroad  tomorrow  to  be  gone  all  summer." 

"  Sofya  Pavlovna  ?  "  asked  Foma  slowly. 

"  Yes,  of  course!  The  sim  of  my  life  will  set — and,  per- 
haps, the  sun  of  your  life  also  ?  " 

204 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Uklitishtcheff  made  a  comically  sly  grimace,  and  cast  a 
glance  at  Foma's  face. 

But  the  latter  stood  before  him,  and  felt  that  hift-head 
was  sinking  upon  his  breast,  and  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  Yes,  the  radiant  Aurora    .    ." 

"  Is  Madame  Medynsky  going  away?  "  rang  out  a  fat, 
bass  voice.    "  Splendid!    I'm  deligh-ted!  " 

"  Permit  me  to  ask  why? ''  exclaimed  IJkhtishtcheff. 

Foma  smiled  stupidly,  and  stared  abstractedly  at  the  man 
with  whiskers — who  was  Ukhtishtcheff's  interlocutor.  The 
latter  stroked  his  mustaches,  with  a  dignified  gesture,  and 
from  beneath  them  poured  out  upon  Foma  ponderous,  fat, 
repulsive  words. 

"  Why,  beca-ause,  you  see,  there'll  be  one  co-cot-te  less  in 
town." 

"  Fy,  Martin  Nikititch! ''  said  Ukhtishtcheff  reprovingly, 
with  a  frown. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  a  coquette?  "  inquired 
Foma  gruffly,  stepping  up  to  the  man  with  whiskers.  The 
latter  eyed  him  over  with  a  disdainful  glance,  turned  away, 
and  waggling  his  hips,  drawled  out: 

"  I  didn't  say — a  co-quette." 

"You  mustn't  speak  like  that,  Martyn  Nikititch,  of  a 
woman  who  .  .  "  began  Ukhtishtcheff  in  a  persuasive 
tone,  but  Fomd  interrupted  him. 

"Permit  me!  I  wish  to  ask  that  gentleman  what  was 
that  word  which  he  employed?" 

And  as  he  spoke  thus,  firmly  and  quietly,  Foma  rammed 
his  hands  deep  down  into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers,  but 
thrust  forward  his  chest,  so  that  his  figure  instantaneously 
assumed  an  obviously  defiant  aspect.  The  bearded  man 
again  eyed  him  over,  and  smiled  derisively. 

"  Gentlemen! "  exclaimed  Ukhtishtcheff  softly. 

205 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"I  said-a  co-cot-te,"  remarked  the  bearded  man,  mov- 
ing hif  lips  as  though  he  relished  the  word.  "  But  if  you 
do  no .  understand  it,  I  ca-an  explain    .    /' 

^^"/es,"  said  Foma,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  and  never 
tak:ng  his  eyes  from  him,  "  you  certainly  will  explain." 

TJkhtishtcheff  clasped  his  hands,  and  rushed  headlong 
away  from  them. 

"  A  cocotte,  if  you  care  to  know, — ^is  a  venal  woman," 
said  the  bearded  man,  in  a  low  tone,  approaching  his  big, 
fat  face  to  Foma. 

Foma  gave  a  low  growl,  and  before  the  man  could  re- 
treat, with  his  right  hand  he  seized  hold  of  the  bearded 
man's  curly  hair,  sprinkled  with  gray.  With  a  convulsive 
movement  of  the  arm,  he  began  to  shake  his  head,  and  his 
whole  huge,  ponderous  body,  but  he  raised  his  left  hand  on 
high,  and  said,  in  a  dull  voice,  keeping  time  with  the  shak- 
ing: 

"Don't  .  .  .  revile — behind  a  person's  .  .  back 
.  .  .  but  rail  .  .  .  straight  .  .  to  his  .  .  .  face 
.    .    straight — to  his    .    .    .    face    .    ." 

He  experienced  an  ardent  delight,  perceiving  that  the 
thick  arms  were  waving  ridiculously  in  the  air,  and  that 
the  legs  of  the  man  whom  he  was  shaking,  were  giving  way 
under  him,  and  scraping  along  the  floor.  His  gold  watch 
flew  out  of  his  pocket,  dangling  from  the  chain  over  his 
round  paunch.  Intoxicated  with  his  strength,  and  with  the 
humiliation  of  that  stately  man,  brimming  with  the  ardent 
sensation  of  malice,  quivering  all  over  with  the  happiness 
of  revenge,  Foma  dragged  him  over  the  floor,  and  bellowed 
dully,  viciously,  in  fierce  joy.  During  those  minutes  he  ex- 
perienced a  vast  sensation — the  sensation  of  liberation  from 
a  wearisome  burden,  which  had  already  long  oppressed  his 
breast  with  sadness  and  impotency.    He  felt  himself  seized 

206 


Foma  Gordydeff 

from  behind,  by  the  waist  and  shoulders,  his  arm  was 
grasped,  bent,  wrenched;  he  felt  someone  crushing  his 
toes,  but  he  saw  nothing,  as  his  blood-shot  eyes  were  intently 
rivetted  on  the  dark,  heavy  mass  which  was  groaning  and 
writhing  in  his  hands.  At  last  they  tore  him  away,  pounced 
upon  him,  and  as  athwart  a  reddish  haze,  he  saw  before 
him,  on  the  floor,  at  his  feet,  the  man  whom  he  had  so 
unmercifully  thrashed.  Dishevelled,  in  disarray,  the  man 
was  sprawling  his  legs  about  the  floor  in  the  effort  to  regain 
his  feet;  two  persons  clad  in  black  were  supporting  him 
under  the  armpits,  his  arms  were  dangling  in  the  air  like 
broken  wings,  and  in  a  voice  which  gurgled  with  sobs,  he 
shrieked  at  Foma: 

"  You  canH  thrash — me!  You  can't!  I  have  an  Order 
,  .  you  scoundrel!  Oh,  you  scoundrel!  I  have  children 
— everyone  knows  me!  Eas-cal!  Savage!  0 — o — o!  I'll 
challenge  you  to  a  duel!  " 

But  Ukhtishtcheff  said,  sonorously,  straight  in  Foma's 
ear: 

"  Come  away!    My  dear  fellow,  for  God's  sake!  " 

"  Wait  till  I  give  him  a  kick  in  his  ugly  face,"  entreated 
Foma.  But  they  dragged  him  off.  His  ears  rang,  his  heart 
beat  hard,  but  he  felt  relieved,  well.  And  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Club,  after  drawing  a  deep,  free  breath,  he  said  to 
Ukhtishtcheff,  with  a  good-natured  smile: 

"  I  gave  him  a  good  healthy  licking,  didn't  I?  " 

"  Listen! "  cried  the  jolly  secretary,  much  agitated. 
"  You  must  excuse  me,  but  it  was  savage!  Deuce  take  it — 
'tis  the  first  time  I  have  ever  seen  such  a  thing." 

"The  dear  man!"  said  Foma  amiably.  "Wasn't  he 
worth  the  trouncing?  Isn't  he  a  dastard?  How  can  he 
say  such  things  behind  a  person's  back?  No,  let  him  go 
to  her,  and  say  it  to  her — straight  out,  to  her  herself    .    .'* 

207 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Permit  me — devil  take  you!  Why,  surely,  it  wasn't 
for  her  sake  alone  that  you  gave  him  that  drubbing?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  it's  not  being  for  her  sake?  For 
whom,  then?  "  asked  the  astonished  Foma. 

"  For  whom?  I  don't  know  .  .  obviously,  you  had 
your  reasons!  Phew,  oh  Lord!  What  a  scene!  I  shall 
never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live!  " 

"  And  who  is  he,  anyway?  "  inquired  Foma,  and  suddenly 
burst  out  laughing. — "  How  he  yelled!   the  fool! '' 

Ukhtishtcheff  stared  intently  in  his  face,  and  asked  him: 

"  Tell  me — is  it  an  actual  fact  that  you  don't  know  whom 
you  have  thrashed?  And  was  it,  really,  on  Sofya  Pavlovna's 
account  only?  " 

"  By  God,  it's  so!  "  asseverated  Foma. 

"  There  .  .  .  It's  a  miserable  business!  " — He  paused, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  in  amazement,  and  waved  his  hand 
despairingly,  then  resumed  his  course  along  the  sidewalk, 
casting  a  sidelong  glance  at  Foma. — "  You'll  pay  for  this, 
Foma  Ignatievitch." 

**  Will  he  summon  me  before  the  justice  of  the  peace?  " 

"  God  grant  he  may.  He's  the  vice-Governor's  son-in- 
law." 

"  You  don't  say  so!  "  said  Foma  slowly,  and  his  face  fell. 

"Yes,  sir.  To  speak  the  plain  truth,  he's  a  worthless 
scamp,  and  a  sharper.  Taking  that  fact  as  our  point  of 
departure,  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  deserves  his  drub- 
bing. But,  taking  into  consideration  that  the  lady,  in  whose 
defence  you  came  forward,  is  also    .    .    ." 

"  Sir!  "  ^  said  Foma  firmly,  laying  his  hand  on  XJkhtish- 
tcheff's  shoulder,  "  you  have  alwa3^s  pleased  me  greatly,  and 

*  Foma  uses  the  word  barin,  master^  as  to  a  superior,  or  man  of 
noble  birth,  in  contradistinction  to  the  merchant  and  peasant  classes. — 
TranglatoT. 

208 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

now  you  are  walking  with  me.  I  understand  it,  I  know 
how  to  prize  it.  Only,  you  must  not  say  anything  bad  about 
her  to  me.  Whatever  she  may  be,  in  your  opinion,  in  mine 
— she  is  dear  to  me  .  .  to  me  she  is  the  best  of  women. 
So  I  say  to  you  plainly,  since  you  are  walking  with  me, — 
don't,  touch  her.  I  consider  her  good — therefore,  she  is 
good." 

Ukhtishtcheff  recognized  in  Foma's  voice  more  emotion, 
glanced  at  him,  and  said  thoughtfully: 

"  You're  a  curious  man,  I  must  confess    .    ." 

"  I'm  a  simple  man —  a  savage  man — I've  thrashed  that 
fellow,  and  I  feel  jolly.    Now  let  what  will  come  of  it." 

"I'm  afraid  something  bad  will  come  of  it.  Do  you 
know — frankness  for  frankness — I  like  you  .  .  although 
— hm!  it's  dangerous  to  be  with  you  .  .  When  this 
knightly  mood  comes  over  you,  a  man  is  likely  to  get  a 
sound  drubbing  from  you    .    .    ." 

"Well,  I've  had  enough  of  it!  I  think  this  is  the  first 
time  I've  done  such  a  thing — I  shan't  be  thrashing  people 
every  day,"  said  Foma,  in  confusion.  His  companion  broke 
into  a  laugh. 

"  Oh  you — monster!  I'll  tell  you  what — it's  savage  to 
fight,  it's  abominable, — excuse  me  for  saying  so. — But  I 
will  say  to  you,  that  in  this  particular  case,  you  made  a 
lucky  choice.  You  have  thrashed  a  debauchee,  a  cynic,  a 
parasite — and  a  man  who  escaped  unpunished  after  rob- 
bing his  nephews." 

"  Thank  God  for  that! "  ejaculated  Foma  with  gratifica- 
tion.   "  I've  punished  him  a  little." 

"A  little?  Well,  very  good,  we'll  assume  that  it  is  a 
little.  Only,  see  here,  my  child — permit  me  to  give  you  a 
piece  of  advice — I'm  a  man  of  the  law  .  .  That  Knyazeff 
is  a  rascal,  it's  true.    But  you  mustn't  thrash  even  a  rascal, 

209 


Fomi  Gordyeeff 

because  lie  is  a  social  being,  who  is  under  the  paternal  pro- 
tection of  the  law.  You  mustn't  touch  him  until  he  trans- 
gresses the  limits  of  the  statutes  concerning  punishments. 
And  even  then  it  is  not  your  place,  but  the  place  of  us 
judges  to  give  him  his  due.  So,  you  must  just  have  pa- 
tience/' 

"  And  will  he  soon  fall  into  your  clutches?  "  asked  Fom^ 
ingenuously. 

"  N-nobody  knows.  As  he  is  anything  but  a  stupid  fel- 
low, it  is  probable  that  he  never  will.  And  all  the  days  of 
his  life,  he  will  exist  upon  one  and  the  same  degree  of 
equality  before  the  law  as  you  and  I  do  .  .  0,  heavens, 
what  am  I  saying?"  sighed  Ukhtishtcheff  comically. 

"  Are  you  betraying  secrets?  "  grinned  Foma. 

"  Not  exactly  secrets,  but — I  ought  not  to  be  frivolous. 
The  d-devil!  But,  you  see, — this  affair  has  enlivened  me. 
— Really,  Nemesis  is  true  to  herself  even  when  she  simply 
kicks  out  like  a  horse." 

Foma  suddenly  halted,  as  though  he  had  encountered 
some  obstacle  in  his  path. 

"  Nemesis  is  the  goddess  of  justice,"  rattled  on  Ukhtish- 
tcheff.    "  What's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  You  see,  it  began,"  said  Foma  slowly,  "  with  your  say- 
ing that  she  was  going  away." 

"Who?" 

"  Sofya  Pavlovna." 

"  Yes,  she's  going  away.    Well,  sir?  " 

He  stood  opposite  Foma,  and  gazed  at  him,  with  a  smile 
in  his  eyes.  Gordyeeff  remained  silent,  with  drooping  head, 
and  jabbed  the  stones  of  the  sidewalk  with  his  cane. 

"  Come  along,"  said  TJkhtishtcheff. 

Foma  walked  on,  remarking  indifferently: 

"Well,  let  her  go.    But  I'm  alone    .    ." 

210 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Ukhtishtcheff,  swishing  his  slender  cane,  began  to  whistle, 
as  he  eyed  his  companion. 

"  How  am  I  to  live  without  her?  "  asked  Foma,  staring 
at  some  point  in  front  of  him,  and,  after  a  pause,  he  an- 
swered himself  softly  and  irresolutely: 

"  That's  the  way  I  feel  about  it  ^.    .    ." 

*'  Hearken  to  me !  "  exclaimed  Ukhtishtcheff,  "  I'll  give 
you  some  good  advice;  a  man  should  be  himself  .  .  but 
you  .  .  You're  an  epic  man,  so  to  speak,  and  the  lyrical 
form  doesn't  suit  you.    It  isn't  your  style." 

"  Try  to  use  simpler  language  with  me,  master,"  said 
Foma,  after  lending  an  attentive  ear  to  his  remarks. 

"  Simpler  language  ?  Very  well.  What  I  want  to  say 
is — stop  thinking  about  that  little  lady.  She's  poisonous 
food  for  you." 

"  There  now,  she  said  the  very  same  thing  herself,"  inter- 
posed Foma  morosely. 

"  She  did  ?  "  queried  IJkhtishtcheff  in  turn,  and  became 
pensive. — "  Hm.  So  that's  the  way  the  land  lies!  Shall 
not  we  go  and  sup  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Foma,  and  suddenly  thundered  in  ex- 
asperation, clenching  his  fists  and  brandishing  them: 

"  All  right,  let's  go !  And  when  I  get  screwed  up, — I'll 
break  loose,  after  all  this — look  out!  " 

"  But  why?    We'll  sup  modestly." 

"No,  hold  on!"  said  Foma  anxiously,  grasping  him  by 
the  shoulder.  "  What's  the  meaning  of  it  ?  Am  I  worse 
than  other  men?  All  live  for  themselves — they  whirl,  and 
bustle  about,  everyone  has  his  own  point  .  .  But  I'm 
bored.  They're  all  satisfied  with  themselves — and  when 
they  complain — they  lie,  the  rascals!  I  make  no  pretensions 
— I'm  a  fool.  I  understand  nothing,  my  dear  fellow, — I 
simply  wish  to  live!    I  don't  know  how  to  think — I'm  dis- 

211 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

gusted  .  .  .  one  person  says  this,  another  that.  Pshaw! 
But  she — ekh!  You  must  know,  that  I  trusted  in  her,  I 
expected  of  her — what  I  expected  of  her,  I  don't  know! 
But  she — ^was  the  best  of  all.  And  I  believed,  that  some 
day  she  would  speak  to  me  words  of  her  own, — particular 
words — ^her  eyes,  my  dear  fellow  were  very  fine!  Heavens! 
I  was  ashamed  to  look  into  them.  So,  as  I  was  saying — 
she  would  speak  certain  words  to  me, — she  would  explain 
everything  to  me.  You  see,  I  did  not  approach  her  with 
love,  exactly — I  went  to  her  with  all  my  soul — I  sought — 
I  thought,  that  if  she  was  such  a  beauty,  of  course — there- 
fore, I  should  become  a  man  by  her  side!  " 

Ukhtishtcheff  stared  as  this  distressing,  incoherent 
harangue  burst  from  the  mouth  of  his  companion;  he 
saw  how  the  muscles  of  his  face  twitched  with  the  effort 
to  express  his  thoughts,  and  felt  for  this  wild  hubbub  of 
words  a  great  and  serious  pain.  There  was  something  pro- 
foundly touching  in  the  powerlessness  of  this  robust  and 
savage  young  fellow,  who  suddenly  began  to  walk  along 
the  sidewalk  with  long,  uneven  strides.  As  IJkhtishtcheff 
skipped  along  after  him  with  his  short  legs,  he  felt  himself 
bound  to  soothe  Foma  by  some  means  or  other.  Everything 
which  Foma  had  said  and  done  that  evening  had  aroused  in 
the  jolly  secretary  a  great  curiosity  with  regard  to  Foma, 
and,  moreover,  he  felt  flattered  by  the  frankness  of  the 
wealthy  young  man.  This  frankness  confused  him  by  its 
gloomy  power,  he  was  disconcerted  by  the  shock  of  it,  and 
although,  despite  his  youth,  he  had  cut  and  dried  phrases 
for  all  the  circumstances  of  life, — he  could  not  lay  his  hand 
upon  them  promptly. 

"  I  feel  that  things  are  dark  and  narrow,"  said  Gordyeeff, 
"  I  feel  that  a  burden  is  accumulating  on  my  shoulders — 
but  what  it  is,  I  can't  understand.     It  impedes  me,  and 

213 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

because  of  it,  I  can't  get  a  real  start  in  life.  I  listen  to 
people,  and  they  all  say  different  things  .  .  but  she — 
might  have  told    .    .'* 

"Eh,  my  dear  sir!'*  IJkhtishtcheff  interrupted  Foma, 
taking  him  amiably  by  the  arm. — "  This  won't  do!  You 
have  only  just  entered  on  life,  and — already  you  are  phi- 
losophizing! No,  it  won't  do  at  all!  Life  is  given  us  for 
life!  That  means — live,  and  let  live.  There's  philosophy 
for  you!  But  that  woman — ^bah!  Isn't  there  anyone  else 
in  the  world  but  her  ?  If  you  like,  I'll  make  you  acquainted 
with  such  a  virulent  specimen  that  the  next  minute  not  a 
particle  of  your  philosophy  will  be  left  in  your  soul!  0,  a 
re-e-ma-arkable  little  woman!  And  doesn't  she  understand 
how  to  make  use  of  life!  She,  also,  is  somewhat  in  the 
epic  line,  you  know.  And  handsome  .  .  I  may  call  her 
Phryne!  And  what  a  pair  you  and  she  would  make!  Ah, 
devil  take  it!  But,  really,  it's  a  brilliant  idea — I'll  intro- 
duce you!    We  must  make  one  nail  drive  out  the  other." 

"  I'm  ashamed  to,"  said  Foma,  gruffly  and  sadly. — "  As 
long  as  she  is  alive — I  can't  even  look  at  women." 

"  Such  a  healthy,  blooming  man — ho-ho! "  shouted 
IJkhtishtcheff,  and  in  the  tone  of  a  tutor  he  began  to  argue 
with  Foma  as  to  the  indispensability  of  giving  himself  an 
outlet  for  his  feelings  in  a  good  spree  shared  by  women. 

"  It'll  be  magnificent,  and  it's  indispensably  necessary  for 
you, — ^believe  me!  And  as  for  your  conscience — ^you  must 
excuse  me!  You  define  it  rather  indefinitely — ^it  isn't  your 
conscience  that  hinders  you,  but — timidity,  in  my  opinion. 
You  live  apart  from  society,  you  are  shy — and  awkward. 
You  are  dimly  conscious  of  all  this — and  you  mistake  that 
consciousness  for  conscience.  There  can  be  no  question 
of  it  in  the  matter  in  hand, — what  has  conscience  to  do  with 
it,  when  jollification  is  so  natural  for  a  man,  when  it  is  his 
necessity  and  his  right?  " 

213 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Foma  walked  on,  moderating  his  pace  to  keep  step  with 
his  companion's,  and  staring  along  the  road.  It  ran  be- 
tween two  rows  of  buildings,  resembled  a  huge  ditch,  and 
was  filled  with  gloom.  It  seemed  as  though  there  were  no 
end  to  it,  and  far  away  something  dark,  inexhaustible, 
which  stopped  one's  breath,  were  flowing  slowly  along  it. 
IJkhtishtcheff's  persuasively  amiable  voice  rang  monoto- 
nously in  Foma's  ears,  and,  although  he  did  not  heed  the 
words  of  the  harangue,  he  was  conscious  that  they  were 
viscous,  in  a  way,  that  they  stuck  to  him,  and  he  involun- 
tarily stored  them  up  in  his  memory.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  man  was  walking  beside  him,  he  felt  as  though  he 
were  alone,  lost  in  the  darkness.  The  darkness  held  him 
in  its  embrace,  and  slowly  drew  him  after  it,  and  he  felt 
that  he  was  being  drawn  somewhither,  and  had  no  desire 
to  hold  himself  back.  A  certain  lassitude  prevented  his 
thinking,  he  had  no  desire  to  resist  the  admonitions  of  his 
companion, — and  why  should  he  resist  them? 

"It's  not  good  for  every  man  to  argue,"  said  tJkhtish- 
tcheff,  brandishing  his  cane  in  the  air,  and  growing  a  little 
intoxicated  with  his  own  wisdom. — "  And  if  everyone  were 
to  begin  to  argue — who  would  live?  And  they  live  only 
once.  So  there's  no  harm  in  being  in  a  hurry  to  live;  by 
heaven,  that's  a  fact!  But  what's  the  use  of  talking — do 
you  give  me  permission  to  shake  you  up?  Let's  go  im- 
mediately to  a  gay  house  .  .  two  sisters  live  there, — ah, 
how  they  live!    Say  the  word!  " 

"Why  not?  I'll  go,"  said  Foma  calmly,  with  a  yawn. 
''Isn't  it  late?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  the  cloud-covered 
sky. 

"  It's  never  too  late  to  go  to  their  house!  "  cried  Ukhtish- 
tcheff  merrily. 


214 


VIII 

On  the  third  day  after  the  scene  in  the  Club,  Fomd 
found  himself  seven  versts  from  the  town,  on  the  lumber- 
wharf  of  merchant  Zvantzeff,  in  the  company  of  that  mer- 
chant's son,  of  Ukhtishtcheff,  a  staid  gentleman  of  noble 
birth  with  side-whiskers,  a  bald  head,  and  a  red  nose,  and  of 
four  ladies.  Young  Zvantzeff  wore  eyeglasses,  was  thin,  pale, 
and  when  he  was  standing,  the  calves  of  his  legs  kept  quiver- 
ing, as  though  they  found  it  repulsive  to  support  the  puny 
body,  clad  in  a  long,  checked  overcoat  with  a  hood,  among 
whose  folds  a  little  head  in  a  jockey  cap  rattled  round  ab- 
surdly. The  gentleman  with  the  side-whiskers  called  him 
"  Jean,'^  and  pronounced  the  name  as  though  suffering  from 
an  inveterate  cold  in  the  head.  Jean's  lady  was  a  tall, 
plump  woman,  with  a  splendid  bust.  Her  head  was  com- 
pressed at  the  sides,  her  low  brow  receded,  a  long,  sharp 
nose  gave  to  her  face  a  bird-like  look.  And  this  plain  face 
was  entirely  immobile,  and  only  the  eyes — small,  round, 
cold  eyes — were  constantly  smiling  with  a  piercing  and 
cunning  smile.  IJkhtishtcheff's  lady  was  named  V^ra;  she 
was  a  tall,  pale  woman,  with  red  hair.  She  had  so  much 
hair,  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  woman  had  put  a  huge 
cap  on  her  head,  which  was  sinking  down  over  her  ears,  her 
cheeks  and  her  lofty  brow,  from  beneath  which  her  large 
blue  eyes  gazed  out  calmly  and  indolently. 

The  gentleman  with  the  side-whiskers  was  sitting  beside 
a  young,  plump,  blooming  girl,  who  laughed  incessantly  and 
resonantly  at  what  he  was  whispering  in  her  ear,  as  he  bent 
over  her  shoulder. 

215 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Foma's  lady  was  a  graceful  brunette,  dressed  entirely  in 
black.  Swarty  of  complexion,  with  wavy  hair,  she  held 
her  head  so  straight  and  so  loftily,  and  gazed  at  everything 
around  her  in  so  haughtily-condescending  a  manner,  that 
it  was  immediately  obvious  that  she  considered  herself  the 
chief  person  present. 

The  party  had  disposed  themselves  on  the  last  link  of  the 
raft,  which  extended  far  out  into  the  smooth,  empty  expanse 
of  the  river.  There  was  a  flooring  of  planks  over  the  raft; 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  raft,  stood  a  roughly  made  table, 
and  everywhere  about  were  scattered  empty  bottles,  pro- 
vision-baskets confectionery-wrappers,  orange-skins.  On 
one  corner  of  the  raft  was  strewn  a  pile  of  earth;  upon  this 
burned  a  fire  of  logs,  and  a  peasant,  in  a  short  fur-coat  was 
squatting  on  his  heels,  warming  his  hands  over  the  fire, 
and  casting  furtive  glances  in  the  direction  of  his  employers, 
who  were  sitting  round  the  table.  The  latter  had  just  fin- 
ished eating  their  sterlet  soup,  and  now  wine  and  fruit 
stood  on  the  table  before  them. 

Fatigued  with  their  forty-eight-hour  debauch,  and  with 
the  dinner  they  had  just  finished,  the  party  were  in  a  bored 
state  of  mind.  All  were  gazing  at  the  river  and  talking,  but 
the  conversation  was  constantly  interrupted  by  long  pauses. 
The  day  was  bright,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  spring,  ro- 
bustly-young. The  coldly-clear  sky  spread  majestically  over 
the  turbid  water  of  the  gigantically-wide  river  at  its  flood, 
calm  as  the  heaven  and  immense  as  the  sea.  The  far-off 
hill-shore  was  caressingly  enveloped  in  a  bluish,  smoke-like 
haze,  and  through  it,  yonder,  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  glit- 
tered the  crosses  of  the  churches,  like  large  stars.  The 
river  was  animated  in  the  vicinity  of  the  hill-shore  * — 

^The  "hill-shore"  of  the  Volga  is  the  west  shore,  on  which  lies 
Nizhni-N6vgorod,  the  (probable)  scene  of  this  story.     The  "  forest- 

21G 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

steamers  were  moving  to  and  fro,  and  their  noise  was  wafted, 
in  ponderous  sobs,  to  the  rafts,  in  the  meadows,  where  the 
gentle  current  of  the  waves  filled  the  air  with  soft,  timid 
sounds.  Huge  barges  which  were  being  towed,  one  after 
the  other,  against  the  current,  like  pigs  of  enormous  size, 
ploughed  up  the  smooth  surface  of  the  river.  The  black 
smoke  crept,  in  heavy  puffs,  from  the  funnels  of  the  steam- 
ers, and  melted  slowly  away  in  the  fresh  air,  filled  with 
brilliant  sunlight  .  .  From  time  to  time  a  whistle 
shrieked, — as  though  some  huge  beast  were  raging  and  roar- 
ing, angered  by  its  toil.  And  in  the  meadows,  round  about 
the  rafts,  everything  was  calm  and  quiet.  Isolated  trees, 
submerged  by  the  spring-flood,  were  already  covered  with 
brilliantly-green  spangles  of  leaves.  The  water,  which  cov- 
ered their  roots,  and  reflected  their  crests,  rendered  them 
spherical, — and  it  seemed  as  though,  at  the  slightest  puff  of 
the  breeze,  they  would  float  away,  in  their  fantastic  beauty, 
along  the  mirror-like  bosom  of  the  river. 

The  red-haired  woman,  gazing  pensively  into  the  dis- 
tance, began  to  sing,  softly  and  mournfully: 

'*  Adown  the  Volga  ri-iver, 
The  light  boat  flo-oats  a-long.'*    »     . 

The  brunette,  narrowing  her  large,  stem  eyes  disdain- 
fully, said,  without  looking  at  her: 

"  We're  bored  enough  without  that." 

"  Don't  touch  her — let  her  sing!  "  entreated  Foma,  good- 
naturedly,  as  he  gazed  into  his  lady's  face.  He  was  pale, 
sparks  of  some  sort  had  blazed  up  in  his  eyes,  and  an  un- 
certain, indolent  smile  hovered  on  his  lips. 

shore,"  or  eastern  shore,  is  flat  and  wooded,  and  not  very  animated 
near  Nizhni.  —  Translator. 

817 


Foma  Gordyeeff 


"  Let's  sing  in  chorus! ''  suggested  the  gentleman  with 
the  side-whiskers. 

"  No,  let  those  two  sing!  "  cried  tJkhtishtcheff  with  ani- 
mation.— "  Vera,  sing  that  song — ^you  know  which?  *  I  will 
go  at  the  break  of  day/ — how  does  it  run?  Sing,  Pav- 
linka! '' 

The  giggler  glanced  at  the  brunette,  and  inquired  re- 
spectfully: 

Shall  we  sing,  Sasha  ?  " 

I'll  sing  myself,"  announced  Foma's  friend,  and,  turn- 
ing to  the  lady  with  the  bird-like  face,  she  gave  the  com- 
mand: 

**  Vassa,  sing  with  me!  '^ 

The  latter  immediately  broke  off  her  conversation  with 
Zvantzeff,  stroked  her  throat  with  her  hand,  and  rivetted 
her  round  eyes  on  her  sister's  face.  Sasha  rose  to  her  feet^ 
rested  her  hand  on  the  table,  and  proudly  raising  her  head, 
she  began,  in  a  strong,  almost  mascuhne  voice,  to  declaim 
melodiously: 

**  He  liveth  well  upon  the  earth, 
Who  hath  no  petty  cares, 
In  the  ardent  heart  of  his  lady-love !  " 

Her  sister  rocked  her  head,  and  in  waihng,  long-drawn 
tones,  she  moaned  in  a  high  contralto: 

"Ehk-with-me-with-the-maid-so-fair.** 

With  a  flash  of  her  eyes  at  her  sister,  Sasha  cried,  in 
low-pitched  notes: 

*'  My  heart  is  high,  as  a  blade  of  gra-a-ass !  " 

The  two  voices  united,  and  floated  over  the  water  in 

218 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

beautiful,  succulent  sounds,  quivering  with  excess  of  power. 
One  complained  of  the  unbearable  pain  in  her  heart,  and 
slaking  her  thirst  with  the  poison  of  her  plaint, — sobbed 
with  mournful  and  impotent  grief,  sobbed,  extinguishing 
the  fire  of  her  torments  with  tears.  The  other,  lower  and 
more  masculine, — rolled  out  powerfully  on  the  air,  filled 
with  the  feeling  of  bloody  insult,  and  readiness  to  take 
vengeance.  Clearly  enunciating  the  words,  the  voice  burst 
from  the  breast  in  a  thick  stream,  and  every  word  reeked  with 
boiling  blood,  stirred  to  revolt  by  outrage,  poisoned  by  in- 
sult, and  clamoring  mightily  for  revenge. 

"  For  this  I  will  requite  him  "     .    • 

sang  Vdssa  plaintively,  closing  her  eyes. 

"  Fll  fre-ee-eze  him  out,  I'll  dry-y-y  him  out," 

promised  Sasha,  confidently  and  menacingly,  tossing  into 
the  air  robust,  powerful  notes,  which  resembled  blows. 
And,  all  of  a  sudden,  altering  the  tempo  of  the  song,  and 
elevating  her  voice,  in  the  same  long-drawn  tone  as  her 
sister,  she  struck  into  sensual  and  exultant  threats: 

"  Drier  than  the  wind,  the  tempestuous  wi-ind, 
Drier  than  the  grass  that  is  mo-own  down, 
Oi,  that  is  mo-own  and  is  fully  dri-ied.     ." 

Fomd,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  table,  bent  down  his 
head,  and  with  frowning  brows,  gazed  into  the  face  of  the 
woman,  into  her  black,  half-closed  eyes.  Eivetted  upon 
some  point  in  the  distance,  they  sparkled  so  wickedly  and 
brilliantly,  that  from  their  gleam  the  velvety  voice  which 
poured  forth  from  the  woman's  breast  seemed  to  him  to  be 

219 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

black  and  sparkling  also,  like  her  eyes.  He  recalled  her 
caresses,  and  thought: 

"  And  whence  comes  she,  such  a  woman?  One  is  even 
afraid  with  her/* 

IJkhtishtcheff,  sitting  close  to  his  lady,  with  a  beatific 
expression  on  his  face,  listened  to  the  song,  and  beamed  all 
over  with  delight.  The  gentleman  with  the  side-whiskers 
and  Zvantzeff  drank  wine,  and  softly  whispered  together 
about  something,  bending  toward  each  other.  The  red- 
haired  woman  pensively  scrutinized  the  palm  of  TJkhtish- 
tcheff's  hand,  which  she  held  in  her  hands,  and  the  merry 
young  girl  became  melancholy,  drooped  her  head,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  song  without  moving,  as  though  fascinated  by 
it.  The  peasant  quitted  the  fire.  He  stepped  cautiously 
over  the  planks,  standing  on  tiptoe,  his  hands  were  clasped 
behind  his  back,  but  his  broad,  bearded  face  was  trans- 
figured by  a  smile  of  amazement,  and  of  some  ingenuous 
joy. 

"Ekh    .     .    now  feel  thou,  kind  young  man !  " 

mournfully  implored  Vassa,  shaking  her  head.  And  her 
sister,  in  exulting  and  powerful  tones,  swelling  out  her 
bosom,  and  tossing  her  head  still  higher,  concluded  the 
song: 

**  What  is  the  anguish  of  lo-o-ove  I  " 

When  she  finished  singing,  she  looked  around,  and  drop- 
ping down  beside  Foma,  threw  her  strong,  firm  arm  about 
his  neck  in  an  embrace. 

"  Well,  was  the  song  nice?  '' 

"  Splendid!  "  sighed  Foma,  smiling  at  her. 

The  song  had  inspired  in  his  heart  a  thirst  for  caresses, 
and  it  quivered,  still  filled  as  it  was  v,^ith  the  beautiful 

220 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

sounds,  but  at  the  touch  of  her  arm,  he  felt  awkward  and 
ashamed  before  the  other  people. 

"Bravo-o!  Bravo,  Alexandra  Savelievna! "  shouted 
IJkhtishtcheff,  and  all  the  others  clapped  their  hands.  But 
she  paid  no  attention  to  them,  and  embracing  Foma,  she 
said,  authoritatively: 

"  Come  now,  give  me  something  for  the  song." 

"  All  right,  I  will,"  assented  Foma. 

"What?" 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is  to  be." 

"  ril  tell  you  in  town  .  .  .  And  if  you  give  me  what 
I  want, — oh,  how  I  will  love  you,  Foma!  " 

"  For  the  gift  ?  "  asked  Foma,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 
"  You'd  better  simply    .    ." 

She  glanced  composedly  at  him,  and  after  meditating 
for  a  second,  she  said,  with  decision: 

"'Tis  early  in  the  day  to  do  it  simply.  I  will  not  lie, 
and  what's  the  use  of  tying  with  you!  I  say  straight  out, 
that  I  love  for  money,  for  gifts.  Because  men  have  nothing 
but  money.  They  can  give  nothing  but  money — nothing  of 
any  worth.  You  see,  I  know  .  .  One  can  love  in  that 
w^ay, — yes.  Wait,  I'll  keep  watch  of  you,  and  perhaps  I 
shall  be  able  to  love  you  without  pay.  But,  in  the  mean- 
time, don't  condemn  me  unheard  ...  in  my  way  of 
life,  I  need  a  great  deal  of  money." 

Foma  listened  to  her,  smiled  and  trembled  at  the  prox- 
imity of  her  robust,  graceful  body.  Zvantzeff's  sour,  cracked 
and  wearisome  voice  smote  upon  his  ear: 

"  I  don't  like,  I  can't  understand,  the  beauties  of  these 
renowned  Eussian  folk-songs.  AVhat  do  they  sound  like, 
hey?  The  howl  of  a  wolf — something  hungry  and  savage. 
It's — like  a  sick  dog — beastly  altogether.  There's  nothing 
cheerful  about  it, — there's  no  chic  about  it, — there  are  no 

221 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

live  and  enlivening  sounds.  No,  you  just  ought  to  hear 
how  the  French  peasant  sings    .    .ah!    Or,  the  Italian." 

"  How  can  you  say  so,  Ivan  Nikolaevitch,"  shouted 
Ukhtishtcheff  in  perturbation. 

"  I  must  agree  with  that — Russian  singing  is  monotonous 
and  lacking  in  brilliancy  ...  it  has  none  of  that  polish 
of  culture,  you  know,"  said  the  man  with  the  side-whiskers, 
sadly,  as  he  sipped  wine  out  of  a  drinking-glass. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  the  living  heart  is  always  in  it,'^ 
interposed  the  red-haired  woman,  as  she  peeled  an  orange. 

The  sun  set.  As  it  sank  far  away,  beyond  the  forest,  on 
the  meadow-shore,  it  dyed  all  the  woods  with  hues  of  crim- 
son, and  cast  upon  the  cold,  dark  water,  rose-colored  and 
golden  spots.  Foma  glanced  in  that  direction,  at  this  play 
of  the  sun's  rays,  watched  them  stream  palpitatingly  over 
the  quiet,  level  waste  of  waters,  and  as  his  ear  caught 
snatches  of  the  conversation,  he  pictured  them  to  himself 
as  a  swarm  of  dark-hued  butterflies  fluttering  restlessly  in 
the  air.  Sasha,  leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  made, 
straight  into  his  ear,  soft  remarks,  which  caused  him  to 
grow  red  and  confused,  for  he  felt  that  they  were  again 
arousing  within  him  the  desire  to  clasp  the  woman  in  a 
strong  embrace,  and  shower  on  her  kisses  without  number, 
unweariedly.  No  one  of  the  people  there  assembled  to- 
gether interested  him,  save  her.  Zvantzeff  and  the  gentle- 
man were  downright  repulsive  to  him. 

"What  are  you  gaping  at?''  he  heard  Ukhtishtcheff's 
jestingly-severe  exclamation. 

Ukhtishtcheff  was  shouting  at  the  peasant.  The  latter 
plucked  his  cap  from  his  head,  slapped  it  against  his  knee, 
and  replied,  with  a  smile: 

"  I — came  nearer  to  listen  to  the  lady." 

"  Why,  does  she  sing  well  ?  " 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"What's  the  need  of  saying  it! "  said  the  peasant,  gazing 
at  Sasha,  with  rapture-filled  eyes. 

"  Exactly  so!  "  cried  IJkhtishtcheff. 

"  There's  gre-eat  power  of  voice  in  her  breast,"  said  the 
peasant,  shaking  his  head. 

His  words  evoked  the  laughter  of  the  ladies,  and  among 
the  men,  ambiguous  remarks  about  Sasha. 

After  she  had  listened  to  them  with  composure,  and  re- 
plied to  them  by  not  one  word,  she  asked  the  peasant: 

"  Do  you  sing?  " 

"  Don't  I!  "  and  he  waved  his  hand. 

"What  songs  do  you  know?" 

"  Why,  all  sorts    .    .    I'm  fond  of  singing." 

He  grinned,  in  an  apologetic  sort  of  way. 

"  Suppose  you  sing  with  me." 

"  What's  the  use!    Are  we  mates?  " 

"  Come,  begin! " 

"  But  may  I  sit  down?  " 

"  Come  hither,  to  the  table." 

"  How  jolly  this  is! "  exclaimed  Zvantzeff,  wrinkling  up 
his  visage. 

"If  you  find  it  tiresome — go  dro\vn  yourself,"  said 
Sasha,  flashing  her  eyes  at  him. 

"  No,  the  water  is  cold,"  retorted  Zvantzeff,  shrivelling 
up  under  her  glance. 

"As  you  like! "  and  the  woman  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  But  it's  time  you  did  it,  and  there's  a  lot  of  water  just 
now,  so  that  you  wouldn't  spoil  it  all  with  your  rotten 
carcass." 

"  Fie,  how  witty! "  hissed  the  young  man,  turning  away 
from  her,  and  he  said  with  disdain:  "  In  Russia,  even  the 
cocottes  are  coarse." 

He  addressed  himself  to  his  neighbor,  but  the  latter  an- 

223 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

swered  him  only  with  a  drunken  smile.  Ukhtishtcheff, 
also,  was  drunk.  Gazing,  with  owlish  eyes  into  the  face 
of  his  lady,  he  was  muttering  something,  and  heard  noth- 
ing. The  lady  with  the  bird-like  face  was  pecking  at  the 
confectionery,  holding  the  box  right  under  her  nose. 
Pavlinka  had  strolled  off  to  the  edge  of  the  raft,  and  stood 
there,  tossing  orange-peel  into  the  water. 

"  I  never  before  took  part  in  such  a  stupid  spree — with 
such  a  stupid  party,"  said  Zvantzeff  plaintively  to  his 
neighbor. 

But  Foma  watched  him  with  a  grin,  and  was  delighted 
that  this  puny,  homely  man  was  bored,  and  that  Sasha  had 
insulted  him.  He  gazed  caressingly  and  approvingly  at  his 
friend, — it  pleased  him  that  she  talked  with  everyone  so 
directly,  and  bore  herself  proudly,  like  a  real  gentlewoman. 

The  peasant  seated  himself  on  the  planks  at  her  feet, 
clasped  his  knees  in  his  arms,  raised  his  face  toward  her, 
and  listened  gravely  to  her  remarks. 

"  Elevate  your  voice  when  I  lower  mine — do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Yes — ^but — madam  ?  You  might  treat  me  to  a  drink, 
to  screw  up  my  courage  ?  !  " 

"  Foma,  give  him  a  glass  of  liquor." 

And  when  the  peasant,  after  drinking,  had  grunted  with 
satisfaction,  licked  his  lips  and  said :  "  Now  I  can  sing," 
.    .    she  commanded,  with  a  frown: 

"  Begin." 

Twisting  his  mouth  on  one  side  and  raising  his  eyes  to 
her  face,  the  peasant  struck  up,  in  a  high  tenor  voice: 

"  I  cannot  dri-ink  and,  ekh,  I  cannot  e-e-eat." 

Quivering  all  over,  the  woman  wailed  tremulously  and 
with  terrifying  mournfulness: 

224 


Fomi  Gordydeff 

*'Wine  will  not  my  spii-irit  soo-oothe !  " 

The  peasant  smiled  delightedly,  wagged  his  head,  and 
closing  his  eyes,  poured  forth  upon  the  air,  a  vibrating 
stream  of  high  notes: 

"  Oe,  the  time  has  come  for  me  to  say  fa-are-we-ell." 

But  the  woman,  trembling  and  writhing,  moaned  and 
wept: 

"  Oi,  from  my — ki-ins-fo-olk  I  must  pa-art." 

Lowering  his  voice,  and  swaying  to  and  fro,  the  peasant 
half-sang,  half-declaimed,  with  amazingly  forceful  expres- 
sion of  woe: 

"  Ekh,  and  to  a  pla-ace  that  is  strange  I  needs  must  go." 

When  the  two  voices,  sobbing  and  moaning,  mingled 
together,  in  the  silence  and  freshness  of  the  evening,  every- 
thing round  about  seemed  to  grow  warmer  and  better; 
everything  seemed  to  be  smiling  with  a  smile  of  compassion 
on  the  anguish  of  the  man  whom  a  dark  power  wrenches 
from  his  natal  nest  into  some  strange  place,  to  onerous  toil 
and  humiliation.  They  seemed  to  be  not  sounds,  or  a  song, 
but  the  burning  tears  of  a  human  heart  in  which  this  plaint 
boiled  up, — and  these  tears  bedewed  the  air.  Mad  grief 
and  pain  from  the  ulcers  of  soul  and  body,  tortured 
in  the  struggle  with  life's  harshness,  profound  sufferings 
from  wounds  dealt  to  man  by  the  iron  hand  of  want, — 
all  this  was  contained  in  the  simple,  rough  words,  and  was 
expressed  by  the  ineffably  melancholy  sounds  to  the  far- 
off,  empty  sky,  which  had  no  echo  for  anybody  or  anything. 

Eetreating  somewhat  from  the  singers,  Foma  gazed  at 

225 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

them  with  a  feeling  akin  to  terror,  but  the  song  poured 
into  his  breast  in  a  seething  flood,  and  the  fierce  power  of 
sadness  which  it  held  within  it,  gripped  his  heart  to  the 
point  of  anguish.  He  felt  that  tears  were  ready  to  well 
forth  from  his  breast,  there  was  a  tickling  in  his  throat, 
and  his  face  twitched.  He  dimly  perceived  Sasha's  black 
eyes — motionless  and  sparkling  gloomily,  they  looked  to 
him  immense  and  grew  larger  and  larger.  And  it  seemed 
to  him  that  it  was  not  two  persons  who  were  singing — ^but 
that  everything  around  him  was  singing  and  sobbing, 
quivering  and  shaking  in  torments  of  grief,  straining  some- 
whither, gushing  with  burning  tears,  and  every  living  thing 
was  clasped  in  one  mighty  embrace  of  despair.  He  himself 
was  singing  with  all  the  rest — with  the  people,  the  river, 
and  the  distant  shore,  whence  wafted  heavy  sighs  which 
mingled  with  the  song. 

Now  the  peasant  rose  to  his  knees,  and  gazing  at  Sasha, 
waved  his  arms,  and  she  bent  down  to  him,  and  rocked  her 
head,  keeping  time  with  the  beats  of  his  hands.  Both 
were  singing  now  without  words,  with  sounds  alone,  and 
Foma  still  could  not  believe  that  only  two  throats  were 
pouring  forth  upon  the  air  with  such  power  those  groans 
and  sobs.  When  they  had  finished  singing,  he  stared  at 
them  quivering  with  excitement,  his  face  wet  with  tears, 
and  smiled  piteously. 

"'V\rell— did  it  affect  you?''  asked  Sasha.  Pale  with 
fatigue,  she  was  breathing  hard  and  fast.  Fomd  glanced 
at  the  peasant.  The  latter  was  mopping  his  perspiring 
brow,  and  gazing  about  him  with  abstracted  eyes,  as  though 
he  did  not  understand  what  had  happened. 

Silence  reigned.    Everyone  sat  motionless,  speechless. 

"  Akh,  Lord!  "  sighed  Foma,  rising  to  his  feet. — "  Ekh, 
Sasha!    Peasant!    Who  are  you?'' he  almost  screamed. 

226 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Why,  I  am  Stepan,"  said  the  peasant  with  a  confused 
smile,  and  rose  to  his  feet  also.    "  I'm  Stepan,  of  course." 

"  How  you  sing!  Ah!  "  exclaimed  Foma  in  amazement, 
shifting  uneasily  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  E-ekh,  Your  Honor! "  sighed  the  peasant,  and  added 
softly,  impressively:  "  Grief  makes  the  ox  sing  like  the 
nightingale  .  .  But  why  this  lady  sings  like  that — God 
only  knows  .  .  but  she  sings — with  all  her  sinews — that 
is  to  say — it's  enough  to  make  one  lie  down  and  die  with 
sadness!    We-ell,  my  lady!  " 

"  Very  well  sung! "  said  U khtishtcheff,  in  a  drunken 
voice. 

"Xo,  it — the  devil  knows  what  it  was  like!"  Zvantzeff 
suddenly  shouted  irritably,  and  almost  with  tears,  jumping 
up  from  the  table. — "  I  came  off  here  for  a  spree — I  want 
to  be  jolly,  and  they  sing  funeral  chants  over  my  dead  body! 
It's  downright  indecent!  I  won't  stand  any  more  of  it — 
I'll  go  away! " 

"  Jean!  I'm  going  too — I'm  bored  also,"  announced  the 
gentleman  with  the  side-whiskers. 

"Vassa!"  shouted  Zvantzeff  to  his  lady. — "Dress  your- 
self! " 

"  Yes,  it's  time  to  go,"  Ukhtishtcheff's  red-haired  lady 
said  softly  to  him.    "  It's  cold — and  it  will  soon  be  dark." 

"  Stepan!  get  things  together!  "  ordered  Yassa. 

All  bustled  about,  all  began  to  chatter  about  something 
or  other;  Foma  gazed  at  them  with  wondering  eyes,  and 
continued  to  tremble.  The  people  walked  about  the  raft, 
reeling  as  they  went,  pale,  exhausted,  and  talked  stupidly, 
incoherently  to  each  other.  Sasha  jostled  them  unceremoni- 
ously as  she  gathered  up  her  things. 

"  Stepan!    Call  for  the  horses!  " 

"But  I — I'm  going  to  have  another  drink  of  brandy — • 

227 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

who  wants  to  drink  with  me?  "  drawled  the  gentleman  with 
the  side-whiskers  in  a  beatific  voice,  clutching  a  bottle  in 
his  hands. 

Vassa  wrapped  Zvantzeff's  neck  in  a  scarf.    He  stood  be- 
fore her,  with  his  lips  fantastically  thrust  out,  all  scowling 
and  dissatisfied,  and  his  calves  waggled.    Foma  was  seized 
with  disgust  at  the  sight  of  them,  and  went  off  to  another 
raft.    He  was  astonished  that  all  these  people  should  be- 
have thus,  as  though  they  had  not  heard  the  song.    In  his 
.  breast  it  still  lived,  and  stirred  to  life  within  it  an  uneasy 
j  longing  to  do  something,  to  talk  about  something.     But 
•  there  was  no  one  for  him  to  talk  with. 

The  sun  had  already  set,  and  the  distance  was  enveloped 
in  a  blue  mist.  Foma  looked  in  that  direction,  and  turned 
away.  He  did  not  wish  to  return  to  the  town  with  these 
people,  and  remain  here  with  them  he  would  not.  But  they 
were  all  strolling  about  the  raft  with  unsteady  feet,  stag- 
gering from  side  to  side  and  muttering  incoherent  words. 
The  women  were  more  sober  than  the  men;  only  the  red- 
haired  woman  was  not  able  to  rise  from  the  bench  for  a 
long  time,  and  at  last,  when  she  did  stand  up,  she  an- 
nounced: 

"  Well,  I'm  drunk.'' 

Foma  seated  himself  on  a  block  of  timber,  and  picking 
up  the  axe  with  which  the  peasant  had  chopped  up  the  wood 
for  the  fire,  began  to  play  with  it,  tossing  it  into  the  air 
and  catching  it. 

"  Akh,  my  God,  how  insipid  this  is!  "  rang  out  Zvantzeff's 
whimsical  exclamation.  Foma  felt  that  he  hated  him — 
him,  and  all  of  them,  except  Sasha,  who  aroused  in  him  a 
certain  dim  sensation  which  contained  both  admiration  for 
her,  and  dread  that  she  might  do  something  unexpected 
and  strange. 

338 


Fomi  Gordy^eff 

"You  be-east!"  shouted  Zvantzeff  shrilly,  and  Yomi 
saw  him  deal  the  peasant  a  blow  on  the  chest,  after  which 
the  peasant  pulled  off  his  cap  apologetically,  and  stepped 
aside. 

"Foo-ol!"  screamed  Zvantzeff,  striding  after  him  and 
brandishing  his  arm. 

Foma  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  said  threateningly: 

"  Hold  on  there!    Don't  touch  him!  " 

"  Wha-at?  "    And  Zvantzeff  turned  toward  him. 

"  Stepan,  come  here!  "  called  Foma. 

"  Peasant! "  screamed  Zvantzeff  scornfully,  staring  at 
Foma. 

Foma  elevated  his  shoulders,  and  strode  toward  him. — 
And,  all  at  once,  an  idea  flashed  brilliantly  into  his  head. 
He  gave  vent  to  a  mahcious  laugh,  and  asked  Stepan  in  an 
undertone: 

"  The  string  of  rafts  is  moored  in  three  places,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Exactly  so.'' 

"  Cut  the  connections.'* 

"And  they?" 

"Hold  your  tongue!    Cut  away." 

"But    .    ." 

"  Cut!    Quietly,  so  that  they  may  not  notice  it." 

The  peasant  took  the  axe,  and  leisurely  approached  the 
spot  where  the  link  was  stoutly  fastened  to  another  link, 
and  dealt  several  blows,  then  turned  to  Foma. 

"  I'm  not  responsible,  your  Honor,"  he  said. 

"  Have  no  fear." 

"  They've  started,"  whispered  the  peasant  in  alarm,  has- 
tily making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  But  Foma  watched, 
laughing  softly,  and  experienced  a  painful  sensation,  which 
titillated  his  heart  keenly  and  ardently  with  a  strange,  sweet, 
agreeable  terror.    The  people  on  the  raft  were  still  strolling 

229 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

about,  moving  slowly,  knocking  against  each  other,  helping 
the  ladies  to  don  their  wraps,  laughing  and  chatting,  while 
the  raft  was  turning  softly,  irresolutely  in  the  water. 

"  If  the  current  carries  them  on  to  the  caravan,''  whis- 
pered the  peasant,  "  they'll  get  stove  in  on  the  bow — ^it  will 
smash  them  into  splinters    .    ." 

"  Hold  your  tongue." 

"  They'll  drown    .    ." 

"  You'll  launch  a  boat,  and  overtake  them." 

"That's  right!  Thank  you!  And  if  not,  what  then? 
They're  human  beings,  after  all.  And  we're  responsible  for 
them  .  .  ."  The  peasant,  content  now,  and  laughing 
gaily,  dashed  in  leaps  across  the  rafts  to  the  shore.  But 
Foma  stood  over  the  water,  and  felt  a  passionate  desire  to 
shout  something,  but  he  restrained  himself,  anxious  to 
have  the  raft  float  as  far  off  as  possible,  so  that  those 
drunken  people  would  not  be  able  to  jump  across  and  join 
him  on  the  link  which  was  still  moored.  He  experienced 
an  agreeable,  soothing  sensation  as  he  saw  the  raft  rocking 
gently  on  the  water,  and  moving  farther  and  farther  from 
him  every  moment. 

In  company  with  the  people  on  the  raft,  and  forth  from 
his  breast  seemed  to  float  that  dark,  heavy  something  v/hicli 
had  filled  it  all  this  time.  He  calmly  inhaled  the  cool  air, 
and  with  it  something  healthy  which  sobered  his  brain. 
On  the  very  edge  of  the  departing  raft  stood  Sasha,  with 
her  back  toward  Foma;  he  gazed  after  her  fine  figure,  and 
involuntarily  the  memory  of  Madame  Medynsky  recurred  to 
his  mind.  She  was  not  so  tall  .  .  The  recollection  of  her 
gave  him  a  pang,  and  he  shouted,  in  a  loud,  sneering  tone: 

"  Hey  there,  you!    Good-bye!    Ha,  ha,  ha!  " 

The  dark  figures  of  the  people  suddenly  and  all  together 
moved  toward  him,  and  assembled  in  a  cluster,  in  the  mld- 

230 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

die  of  the  raft.  But  between  them  and  Foma  a  strip  of 
water  nearly  a  fathom  in  width  already  gleamed  coldly. 
The  silence  lasted  for  several  seconds. 

And  all  at  once,  a  whole  hurricane  of  shrill  sounds  was 
wafted  to  Foma, — sounds  full  of  animal  terror,  repulsively- 
reproachful;  and  high  above  all  and  more  repelling  to 
the  ear  than  all  the  rest,  Zvantzeff's  shrill,  quavering  cry 
pierced  the  ear: 

"He-elp!" 

Someone — it  must  have  been  the  solid  man  with  the  side- 
whiskers, — roared  in  a  bass  voice: 

"  Drowning — people  drowning." 

"Are  you  people?  !"  shouted  Foma  spitefully,  irritated 
by  the  shrieks,  which  seemed  to  bite  him. 

But  the  people  flung  themselves  about  the  raft,  in  mad 
terror;  it  rocked  under  their  feet,  and  in  consequence, 
floated  more  swiftly,  and  the  agitated  water  could  be  heard 
splashing  over  it,  and  dashing  under  it.  Cries  rent  the  air, 
the  people  leaped  about,  flourished  their  hands,  and  only 
Sasha's  graceful  figure  stood  motionless  and  silent  on  the 
edge  of  the  raft. 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  the  crawfishes!  "  shouted  Foma. 
— He  grew  more  and  more  light-hearted  and  merry,  in  pro- 
portion as  the  raft  floated  farther  away. 

"  Foma  Ignatievitch!  "  began  Ukhtishtcheff,  in  an  irreso- 
lute but  sober  tone,  "  see  here,  this  is  a  dangerous  joke.  I 
shall  complain    .    ." 

"  When  you're  drowned?  Complain  away! "  replied 
Foma  cheerfully. 

"  You're  a  murderer  .  ."  shouted  Zvantzeff ,  with  a  sob. 
But  at  that  moment  the  sonorous  plash  of  the  water  re- 
sounded, as  though  it  were  exclaiming  with  fear  or  with 
wonder.    Then  the  wild,  intoxicated  shrieks  of  women  rang 

231 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

out,  and  the  terror-stricken  exclamations  of  the  men,  and 
all  the  figures  on  the  raft  fell  silent,  each  where  it  stood. 
And  Foma,  as  he  stared  at  the  water,  felt  as  though  he  had 
turned  to  stone, — but  across  the  water  something  black, 
surrounded  by  splashings,  came  floating  toward  him. 

Instinctively  rather  than  consciously,  Foma  threw  him- 
self breast  down  upon  the  beams  of  the  raft,  and  stretched 
his  arms  out  in  front  of  him,  with  his  head  suspended  over 
the  water.  Several  incredibly  long  seconds  elapsed.  Cold 
wet  hands  clasped  his  neck,  and  dark  eyes  flashed  before 
him.    Then  he  understood  that  it  was  Sasha. 

The  dull  terror  which  had  suddenly  overpowered  him 
vanished,  and  was  replaced  by  wild,  rebellious  joy.  He 
seized  the  woman  round  the  waist,  tore  her  from  the  water, 
pressed  her  to  his  breast,  and  knowing  not  what  to  say  to 
her,  gazed  wonderingly  into  her  eyes.  They  smiled  caress- 
ingly upon  him    .    . 

"  I'm  cold,''  said  Sasha  softly,  and  shivered  all  over. 

Foma  laughed  happily  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  tossed 
her  into  his  arms,  and  set  out  hastily,  almost  at  a  run, 
across  the  raft  to  the  shore.  She  was  as  wet  and  cold  as 
a  fish,  but  her  breath  was  burning,  it  scorched  Foma's 
cheek,  and  filled  his  breast  with  tempestuous  delight. 

"  Did  you  want  to  drown  me  ?  "  she  said,  pressing  close 
to  him.    "  'Tis  early  yet — wait." 

"  How  well  you  did  that,"  muttered  Foma  as  he  ran. 
"  You  daring  woman!  " 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  a  bad  invention  on  your  part — though 
you  are  such  a — peaceable — person  in  appearance." 

"  And  the  rest — they're  still  all  howling,  ha,  ha!  " 

"Devil  take  them!  If  they  drown,  you  and  I  shall  go 
to  Siberia,  .  ."  said  the  woman,  exactly  as  though  she  was 
desirous,  by  these  words,  to  comfort  and  encourage  him. 

232 


Foma  Gordydeff 

She  began  to  shiver,  and  the  tremor  of  her  body,  which 
Foma  felt,  made  him  hasten  his  flight. 

Yells  and  cries  for  help  were  wafted  after  them  from  the 
river.  There,  on  the  tranquil  water,  getting  farther  and 
farther  from  shore  toward  the  main  current  of  the  river, 
a  small  islet  was  floating  through  the  gloom,  and  upon  it 
dark  human  figures  were  rushing  back  and  forth. 

Night  closed  in  upon  them. 


S83 


IX 

On  a  certain  Sunday,  at  noon,  Pakoff  Tarasovitch  Maya- 
kin  was  drinking  tea  in  his  garden,  and  chatting  with  his 
daughter.  Having  unbuttoned  the  collar  of  his  shirt,  and 
wound  a  towel  round  his  neck,  he  was  sitting  on  a  bench 
under  a  canopy  of  green  cherry-trees,  flourishing  his  hands 
in  the  air,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  face,  and  sprin- 
kling the  air  with  his  brisk  remarks  in  an  incessant  stream. 

"  The  man  who  permits  his  belly  to  have  dominion  over 
him  is  both  a  fool  and  a  knave!  Isn't  there  anything  bet- 
ter in  the  world  than  drinking  and  gobbling?  On  what 
are  you  to  pride  yourself  before  people,  if  you  are  such  a 
hog?" 

The  old  man's  eyes  glistened  with  vexation  and  spite, 
his  lips  were  scornfully  contorted,  and  the  wrinkles  on  his 
dark  visage  quivered. 

"If  Foma  were  only  my  own  son,  Fd  teach  him  a 
lesson! " 

Playing  with  a  branch  of  acacia,  Liuboff  listened  in  si- 
lence to  her  father's  harangue,  gazing  attentively  and  search- 
ingly  at  his  agitated,  trembling  face.  As  she  grew  older, 
she  had,  unconsciously  to  herself,  altered  her  cold  and  dis- 
trustful demeanor  toward  the  old  man.  Ever  more  fre- 
quently did  she  detect  in  his  words  the  same  idea  that  was 
in  her  books,  and  this  influenced  her  in  favor  of  her  father, 
involuntarily  causing  the  girl  to  prefer  his  lively  speeches 
to  the  cold  letters  in  her  books.  Always  overwhelmed 
with  business,  always  audacious  and  clever,  he  pursued  his 

234 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

path  alone,  but  she  perceived  his  loneliness,  knew  how  heavy 
it  was,  and  her  relations  to  her  father  became  warmer.  At 
times,  even,  she  entered  into  discussions  with  the  old  man; 
he  always  bore  himself  toward  her  retorts,  with  disdain  and 
ridicule,  but  with  every  succeeding  occasion,  he  became 
more  attentive  and  gentler. 

"  If  the  deceased  Ignat  could  read  in  the,  liewspapers 
about  his  son's  indecent  life — he'd  kill  hi^s^Pomka! "  said 
Mayakin,  bringing  his  fist  down  with  a  bang  upon  the 
table.  "You  see  how  he  is  described?  It's  disgrace- 
ful! " 

"  He  deserves  it!  "  said  Liuboff. 

"  I  don't  say  it's  done  at  random!  They  have  barked  as 
was  proper.    And  who  found  it  out  ?  " 

"  Does  it  make  any  difference  to  you?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  I'm  curious  to  know.  That  sharp  fellow  described 
Foma's  behavior  adroitly.  Evidently  he  himself  had  been 
on  the  spree  with  him,  and  was  a  witness  to  all  his  outrageous 
conduct." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  he  won't  go  on  sprees  with  Foma! " 
said  Liuboff  with  conviction,  and  blushed  deeply  beneath 
her  father's  searching  glance. 

"  Won't  he!  A  nice  sort  of  acquaintance  you  have, 
Liubka !  "  said  Mayakin,  with  humorous  malice.  "  Come 
now,  who  wrote  that?  " 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  know,  papa?  " 

"Never  mind,  tell  me!" 

She  did  not  wish  to  tell,  but  her  father  insisted,  and  his 
voice  grew  more  and  more  dry  and  wrathful.  Then  she 
asked  him  anxiously: 

"  But  you  will  not  do  anything  to  him?  " 

"  I?  I'll— bite  his  head  off!  The  big  fo-ool!  What  can 
I  do  to  him?    These  writers  are  anything  but  a  stupid  lot, 

235 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

and  therefore,  they  are  a  power, — a  power,  the  devils!  But 
Fm  not  the  Governor, — and  even  he  can't  dislocate  the 
man's  arm  or  tie  np  his  tongue.  They're  like  mice, — they 
gnaw  us  away  little  by  little, — and  you  have  to  hunt  them, 
not  with  pointed  sticks,  but  with  rubles  ...  so  there 
now!    Come,  then,  who  is  he?  " 

"  Do  you  remember,  that  when  I  was  at  school,  a  gym- 
nasium student,  Ezhoff,  used  to  come  to  our  house?  A 
swarthy  little  fellow    .    ." 

"  Mm — I  used  to  see  him,  of  course!  I  know  .  .  So 
it's  he?" 

"Yes." 

"The  miserable  little  mouse!  Even  at  that  time  it  was 
plain  that  he  would  turn  out  badly  .  .  Even  at  that  time, 
he  was  a  nuisance.  A  nasty,  bold  little  brat.  I  ought  to 
have  taken  him  in  hand  then — perhaps  I  might  have  made 
a  man  of  him." 

Liuboff  broke  into  a  malicious  laugh,  and  glancing  at 
her  father,  she  asked  hotly: 

"And  isn't  a  person  who  writes  for  the  newspapers  a 
man?" 

For  a  long  time,  the  old  man  made  no  reply  to  his  daugh- 
ter, but  drummed  thoughtfully  on  the  table  with  his  fingers, 
and  stared  at  his  own  face,  which  was  reflected  in  the 
brightly  polished  copper  of  the  samovar.  Then,  raising 
his  head,  and  screwing  up  his  eyes,  he  said  impressively,  in 
a  passion: 

"  Those  people  are  not  men — they're  ulcers!  The  blood 
in  Russians  has  become  mixed,  it  has  become  mixed  and 
spoiler!^  aurl  •f-poiii  Ihib  bad  blood  have  sprung  alFthese  dirty 
little  writers  of  books  and  newspapers,  savage  pharisees. 
They've  broken  out  everywhere,  and  they  keep  on  breaking 
out,  more  and  more.     What  does  this  corruption  of  the 

236 


Foma  Gordydeff 

blood  come  from?  From  sluggishness  of  motion  .  .  . 
"VVlience  come  mosquitoes,  for  example  ?  From  the  swamps. 
All  sorts  of  filth  is  bred  in  stagnant  water.  And  it's  the 
same  with  ill-ordered  lives." 

"  You're  not  talking  sense,  papa!  "  said  Liuboff  gently. 

"  What's  that — not  talking  sense?  " 

"  W^H^^j;  "iT^  thff  n?fft  tii''iT\t?r'rtpf]  nf  Tn^p — fh^y  aro 
brilliant  individualities!  ¥qx,  ynn  spp.  thpy  -^^n^  t^^thiTi^ — 
aU  mey  aemand  in  just-r^  .  .  truth!  They  are  not 
mosquitoes! " 

Liuboff  grew  excited,  as  she  lauded  the  men  she  so  loved; 
her  face  flushed  crimson,  and  her  eyes  gazed  at  her  father 
as  though  she  were  entreating  him  to  believe  her,  though 
she  was  not  capable  of  convincing  him. 

"  E-ekh,  you  goose! "  said  the  old  man  with  a  sigh,  in- 
terrupting her.  "  You've  read  too  much!  You've  poisoned 
yourself!  Now  tell  me — who  are  they?  Nobody  knows! 
There's  Ezhoff — what's  he?  The  Lord  our  God  only  knows 
— bah!  All  they  demand  is  truth,  you  say? .  How  modest 
they  are?  !  And  is  trutli  ike  most  precious  thing  of  all? 
Perhaps  everyone  is  seeking  it  silently,  how  do  you  know? 
Believe  me — there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a  disinterested 
man — no  one  will  fight  for  another  man's  property — but  if 
he  does,  his  name  is  '  fool,'  and  he's  of  no  use  to  anybody! 
A  man  must  know  how  to  stand  up  for  himself,  for  his  own 
nearest  interests — then  he'll  make  something  of  himself! 
There  you  have  it!  'tis  true!  I've  been  reading  the  same 
newspaper  for  forty  years,  and  I  see — here's  my  face  before 
you,  and  before  me,  yonder,  on  the  samovar,  is  my  face 
again,  but  it's  different  .  .  .  Those  newspapers  give  a 
samovar-face  to  everybodv.  and  thev  don't  see  -{h^  real  one 
.  .  .  But  you  believe  thert^  .  .  But  I  know  that  my 
face  in  the  samovar  is  disfigured.    No  one  ought  to  speak 

237 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

the  actual  truth;  a  man's  gullet  is  too  delicate  for  that — 
yes,  and  nobody  knows  the  real  truth." 

"Papa!"  exclaimed  LiuboS. — "But,  you  know,  books 
and  newspapers  defend  the  general  mtSTgfets^  and  all 
men."_ 

"  And  in  what  newspaper  is  it  \mtten  that  you  find  life 
tiresome,  and  that  you  ought  to  have  got  married  long  ago  ? 
So  there  now, — they  don't  defend  your  interest!  Plague 
on  you!  And  they  don't  defend  mine,  either — who  knows 
what  I  want?  Who,  save  myself,  understands  what  my 
interests  are  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,  that's  not  it,  still,  not  it  at  all!  I  cannot 
answer  you  properly,  but  I  feel  that  it  is  not  so! "  said 
Liuboff,  almost  in  despair. 

"It  is  so,  exactly!"  said  the  old  man  firmly.  "Russia 
has  got  all  stirred  up,  and  there's  nothing  steady  in  it; 
everything  is  tottering!  Everybody  is  living  with  their 
hats  cocked  on  one  ear,  they  walk  on  one  side,  there's  no 
symmetry  in  life.  Only,  everybody  is  yelling  in  a  different 
voice.  And  what  this  man  or  that  man  wants, — no  one 
understands!  There's  a  fog  over  everything — everybody 
inhales  the  fog,  and  that's  why  people's  blood  has  become 
tainted  .  .  that's  why  there  are  ulcers.  Great  liberty  of 
reasoning  has  been  granted  to  men,  but  they're  not  allowed 
to  do  anything — hence  a  man  does  not  live,  but  rots  and 
stinks." 

"What  ought  one  to  do?"  asked  Liuboff,  placing  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  and  bending  toward  her  father. 

"  Everything!  "  shouted  the  old  man  passionately. — "  Do 
everything!  Drive  ahead,  each  one  in  the  thing  he's  clever 
at!  But  for  that,  people  must  be  given  freedom — complete 
freedom!  So  long  as  the  time  has  come  when  every  green- 
horn assumes  about  himself  that  he  can  do  everything,  and 

238 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

was  created  for  making  a  complete  disposition  of  life, — 
why,  give  the  mad  scape-grace  freedom!  Come  on,  live! 
A-a!  Then  this  is  the  comedy  which  will  follow;  when  the 
man  feels  that  the  bit  has  been  taken  off  him,  he'll  kick 
up  higher  than  his  ears,  and  will  flutter  about,  hither  and 
thither,  like  a  feather.  He'll  imagine  he's  a  miracle-worker, 
and  he'll  begin  to  let  out  his  spirit    .    .    ." 

The  old  man  paused,  and  with  a  spiteful  smile,  lowering 
his  voice,  he  continued: 

"  But  the  spirit  of  that  same  organizer  is  a  ve-ery  small 
quantity  indeed  within  him!  He'll  puff  himself  up  for  a 
day  or  two,  he'll  spread  himself  out  on  all  sides,  and  pretty 
soon  he'll  weaken,  the  poor  wretch!  His  heart  is  rotten 
within  him,  he-he-he!  The-en,  he-he-he! — the  real, 
worthy  people  will  understand  him,  the  dear  man, — the 
worthy  people  who  are  able  to  be  the  real  civilian  masters 
of  life,  .  .  who  will  direct  life  not  with  a  cudgel,  not 
with  the  pen,  but  with  a  finger  and  with  brains!  What, — 
they  will  say — are  the  gentlemen  weary?  What,  they  will 
say,  doesn't  his  spleen  stand  real  heat?  Ye-es,  sir!  "  And 
elevating  his  head,  the  old  man  concluded  his  harangue  in 
a  domineering  tone: 

"  Well,  now  then  you  Thus-and-So, — hold  your  tongues, 
don't  utter  a  squeak!  If  you  do,  we'll  shake  you  off  the 
earth,  as  worms  are  shaken  from  a  tree!  Hus-s-sh,  my 
dears!  He-he-he!  That's  the  way  it  will  turn  out, 
Liubavka! " 

The  old  man  was  merry.  His  wrinkles  twitched,  and, 
intoxicated  with  his  own  eloquence,  he  trembled  all  over, 
closed  his  eyes,  and  smacked  his  lips,  as  though  savoring 
his  own  wisdom    .    . 

"  Well,  and  then  those  who  will  get  the  upper  hand  in 
the  turmoil  will  arrange  life  after  their  own  fashion,  sensi- 

239 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

bly.    Business  won't  go  by  fits  and  starts  then,  but  as  if  by 
note.    I  shall  not  live  to  see  that  time,  more's  the  pity!  " 

Upon  Liuboff  her  father's  words  fell,  one  after  the  other, 
like  meshes  in  some  vast,  strong  net, — fell,  entangling  her, 
and  the  girl,  not  knowing  how  to  free  herself  from  them, 
remained  silent,  stunned  by  her  father's  speech.  As  she 
stared  at  his  face  with  an  intent  gaze  she  sought  a  support 
for  herself  in  his  words,  and  heard  in  them  something  which 
bore  a  general  resemblance  to  what  she  had  read  in  books, 
and  to  what  seemed  to  her  the  real  truth.  But  her  father's 
malevolent,  triumphant  laughter  wounded  her  heart,  and 
those  wrinkles  which  crept  across  his  face  like  tiny,  dark- 
hued  serpents,  inspired  her  with  a  sort  of  fear  for  herself 
in  his  presence.  She  felt  that  he  was  turning  her  aside 
from  that  which,  in  her  dreams,  had  seemed  to  her  so  sim- 
ple and  brilHant. 

"  Papa! "  she  suddenly  asked  the  old  man,  obeying  an 
idea  and  a  desire  which  unexpectedly  flashed  across  her, — 
"  Papa!    But  what,  in  your  opinion, — what  is  Taras?  " 

Mayakin  shuddered.  His  brows  contracted  wrathfully, 
he  fixed  his  keen  little  eyes  intently  on  his  daughter's  coun- 
tenance, and  drily  asked  her: 

«  What  sort  of  talk  is  this?  " 

"Is  it  possible  that  he  must  not  be  mentioned?"  said 
Liuboff  softly  and  confusedly. 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  him,  and  I  advise  you  not 
to!  "  .  .  the  old  man  shook  his  finger  menacingly  at  his 
daughter,  and  with  a  gloomy  frown,  dropped  his  head.  But, 
in  saying  that  he  did  not  wish  to  talk  about  his  son,  it  must 
have  been  that  1*^  did  not  thoroughly  understand  himself, 
for  after  a  momentary  silence,  he  began  again,  surhly  and 
angrily: 

"  Taraska  is  an  ulcer  also    .    .    Life  breathes  upon  you 

240 


Foma  GordMfff 

young  simpletons,  but  you  are  not  able  to  pick  out  its  gen- 
uine odors,  and  you  swallow  all  sorts  of  trash,  and  that's 
where  the  muddiness  in  your  pates  comes  from.  And  that's 
why  you  are  incapable  of  anything,  and  are  unhappy  be- 
cause of  your  incapacity  .  .  .  Taraska  .  .  .  ye-es! 
He's  about  forty  years  old  now, — he's  dead  to  me!  A  con- 
vict— is  that  a  son  for  me?  A  blunt-snouted  pig,  who 
wouldn't  talk  to  his  father,  and — tripped  up.'^ 

"What  did  he  do?"  asked  Liuboff,  listening  eagerly  to 
the  old  man's  remarks. 

"  Who  knows  ?  In  all  probability,  he  can't  understand 
it  himself  now, — if  he  has  become  sensible.  And  he  ought 
to  have  become  a  pretty  clever  fellow — he's  the  son  of  any- 
thing but  a  stupid  father  .  .  .  and  he  has  suffered  not 
a  little.  They  coddle  them,  the  nihilists.  I'd  give  it  to 
them — I'd  show  them  what  business  means.  Into  the 
desert!  Into  the  desert  places,  forward,  march !  Come,  now, 
you  clever  fellows,  arrange  life  here  according  to  your  char- 
acter. Come  on!  And  as  chiefs  over  them,  I'd  put  stout 
peasants.  Now  then,  my  honorable  gentlemen,  you've  been 
given  drink,  and  food  and  education, — let's  see  what  you 
have  learned?  A  little  debt,  if  you  please  .  .  We-ell,  I 
wouldn't  spend  a  broken  copper  for  them,  but  I'd  squeeze 
all  the  juice  out  of  them, — yield  it  up!  A  man  must  not  be 
neglected;  it's  not  enough  to  put  him  in  prison!  You've 
transgressed  the  law,  and  are  of  noble  birth?  Never  mind, 
you  just  work  for  me.  From  one  grain  a  whole  ear  springs, 
and  a  man  must  not  be  permitted  to  perish  without  profit! 
An  economical  carpenter  will  find  a  place  in  the  work  for 
every  chip, — and  just  so,  every  man  ought  to  be  used  with 
profit  for  the  job,  and  entirely,  down  to  hfs'very  last  sinew. 
Every  sort  of  trash  has  its  place  in  life,  and  a  man  is  never 
trash    .    .     Ekh!    It's  bad  when  strength  exists  without 

241 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

sense,  and  it's  not  good  when  there  is  sense  but  no  strength. 
There's  Fomka,  now  .  .  Look  out  and  see  who's  crawling 
along  there  ?  " 

Turning  round,  Liuboff  perceived  that  Efim,  the  captain 
of  the  "  Yermak,"  was  walking  along  one  of  the  garden 
paths,  and  was  bowing  to  her,  having  respectfully  removed 
his  cap.  His  face  was  desperately  guilty,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  bruised  all  over.  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  recognized  him, 
and  instantly  becoming  uneasy,  he  shouted: 

"  Whence  come  you?    What  has  happened?  " 

"  So  I  have  come  to  you! "  said  Efim,  with  a  low  bow, 
coming  to  a  halt  at  the  table. 

"  Well,  I  see  that  you  have  come  to  me  .  .  What's  the 
matter?    Where's  the  steamer?" 

"  The  steamer  is  yonder!  "  Efim  thrust  his  hand  out  into 
the  air,  and  shifted  heavily  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"Where,  you  devil?  Tell  me  coherently,  what  has  hap- 
pened? "  roared  the  old  man,  with  an  angry  scream. 

"  So — a  misfortune,  Yakoff    .     ." 

"  Have  you  been  smashed  up?  " 

"  No,  God  saved  us    .    ." 

"  Have  you  been  burned  up  ?    Come,  speak  up  quickly." 

Efim  inhaled  a  large  quantity  of  air,  and  said  slowly: 

"  Barge  No.  9  has  gone  to  the  bottom, — broken  up.  One 
man  had  his  spine  broken,  another  is  not  to  be  found,  so 
he  is  probably  drowned.  Five  more  men  were  hurt,  but  not 
so  very  badly  .  .  .  though  several  are  pretty  thoroughly 
spoiled    .    .    ." 

"  You  don't  say  so! "  drawled  Mayakin,  measuring  the 
captain  ominously  with  his  eyes.  "  We-ell  now,  Efimushka, 
I'll  flay  you  alive." 

"  I  didn't  do  it!  "  said  Efim  hastily. 

"You  didn't?"  shouted  the  old  man,  shaking  all  over. 
"Who  did?'' 

242 


Foma  Gordyeeff 


"  The  master  himself." 

"  Fomka?  !    And  you    .    .    what  were  you  doing?  " 

"  I — was  lying  under  the  hatchway." 

"  A-a !    You  were  ly-ing    .    ." 

"  I  was  bound." 

"Wha-at!"  squealed  the  old  man,  in  his  thin  voice. 

"  Permit  me  to  tell  you  in  proper  order. — He  had  been 
drinking,  and  he  shouted:  ^Begone!  I'll  take  command 
myself! ' — I  said — ^  I  can't!  As  I'm  the  captain — ' — *  Bind 
him! '  said  he.  And  when  they  had  bound  me,  they  put 
me  under  the  hatches,  with  the  sailors. — But  as  he  was 
drunk,  he  wanted  to  joke.  A  string  of  boats  was  coming 
toward  us — six  empty  barges  towed  by  the  ^  Tchernigoretz.' 
Foma  Ignatievitch  barred  their  way.  They  whistled, — more 
than  once, — I  must  tell  the  truth,  they  whistled    .    ." 

"We-11?" 

"Well,  and  they  didn't  get  straightened  out  .  .  the 
two  barges  in  front  ran  into  us.  As  they  crushed  in  the 
side  of  our  ninth  .  .  we  were  smashed  to  flinders.  Both 
of  them  were  smashed,  but  we  had  much  worse  luck  than 
they  did." 

Mayakin  rose  from  the  table,  and  broke  out  into  a  quaver- 
ing, malicious  laugh.  But  Efim  sighed,  and  throwing  out 
his  hands,  he  said: 

"  He  has  a  very  strong  character.  When  he's  sober,  he's 
silent  most  of  the  time,  and  goes  about  thoughtfully,  but 
when  he  wets  his  springs  with  liquor, — he  gets  wound  up. 
Thus,  at  that  moment,  he  was  master  neither  of  himself  nor 
of  the  business  in  hand,  but  a  savage  enemy — begging  your 
pardon!  And  I  want  to  leave,  Yakoif  Tarasovitch!  I'm 
not  used  to  being  without  a  master,  I  can't  live  without  a 
master." 

"  Hold  your  tongue!  "  said  Mayakin  gruffly. — "  Where  is 
Fomd?" 

243 


Fom&  Gordy^eff 


"  There,  on  the  spot.  Immediately  after  the  affair,  he 
came  to  himself,  and  sent  for  workmen.  They  are  going  to 
raise  the  barge  .  .  probably  they  have  already  brought  it 
to  land." 

"  Is  he  alone  there?  "  asked  Mayakin,  dropping  his  head. 

"  Not — entirely,"  replied  Efim  in  an  undertone,  with  a 
sidelong  glance  at  Liuboff. 

"Well?" 

"  He  has  a  lady  with  him — a  swarthy  sort  of    .    ." 

"  Just  so." 

"  The  woman  doesn't  seem  to  have  quite  all  her  wits," 
said  Efim,  with  a  sigh. — "  She's  eternally  singing — she 
sings  very  well — it's  a  great  scandal." 

"  I'm  not  asking  you  about  her! "  roared  Mayakin 
viciously.  The  wrinkles  on  his  face  knit  together  in  a 
painful  way,  and  it  seemed  to  Liuboff  as  though  her  father 
were  on  the  point  of  weeping. 

"  Calm  yourself,  dear  papa!  "  she  said  caressingly.  "  Per- 
haps the  loss  is  not  great." 

"Not  great?"  cried  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  sonorously. 
"What  do  you  understand  about  it,  you  fool?  Is  it  that 
the  barge  was  smashed?  !  Ekh,  you  idiot!  A  man  was 
injured!  That's  where  the  trouble  lies!  And,  you  see,  I 
needed  him!    I  needed  him,  you  stupid  devils!  " 

The  old  man,  wrathfully  shaking  his  head,  strode,  with 
rapid  steps,  along  the  garden-path,  in  the  direction  of  the 
house. 

But  at  that  moment,  Foma  was  four  hundred  versts  from 
his  god-father,  in  a  peasant  cottage  in  a  village  on  the  bank 
of  the  Volga.  He  had  but  just  waked  up,  and  as  he  lay 
on  the  floor  of  the  cottage,  on  a  bed  of  fresh  hay,  he  stared 
with  gloomy  eyes  out  of  the  window,  at  the  sky,  covered  with 
gray,  ragged  clouds. 

244 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  wind  was  rending  them  asunder,  and  driving  them 
off;  heavy  and  melancholy,  they  floated  athwart  the  sky  in 
a  huge  flock,  overtook  one  another,  merged  themselves  in 
a  dense  mass,  again  broke  into  fragments,  descending  low 
down  toward  the  earth,  in  speechless  rebellion,  and  again 
rising  aloft,  and  engulfing  each  other. 

Without  moving  his  head,  still  heavy  with  intoxication, 
Foma  gazed  for  a  long  time  at  them,  and,  at  last,  he  began 
to  feel,  as  though  in  his  breast  also  taciturn  clouds  were 
moving, — moving,  and  breathing  a  damp  chill  upon  his 
heart  and  oppressing  him.  In  the  movement  of  the  clouds 
in  the  sky,  there  was  something  timorous — and  within  him- 
self he  felt  the  same.  Without  thinking,  he  pictured  to 
himself  all  that  he  had  lived  through  during  the  last  few 
months. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had  fallen  into  a  turbid, 
boiUng  torrent,  and  now  dark  waves,  similar  to  those  clouds 
in  the  sky,  had  seized  upon  him, — had  seized  him  and  were 
carrying  him  off  somewhere  or  other,  as  the  wind  was  carry- 
ing the  clouds.  In  the  darkness  and  the  tumult  which 
surrounded  him,  he  confusedly  perceived  that  certain  other 
people  were  being  borne  along  with  him — not  the  same 
today  as  yesterday, — new  ones  each  day,  but  all  alike,  and 
equally  pitiful,  repulsive.  Drunken,  noisy,  greedy,  they 
circled  around  him,  as  in  a  whirlwind,  caroused  on  his 
money,  reviled  him,  quarrelled  among  themselves,  shouted, 
even  wept  more  than  once.  And  he  beat  them.  He  remem- 
bered that,  one  day,  he  had  struck  someone  in  the  face, 
had  torn  the  frock-coat  off  someone,  and  flung  it  into 
the  water,  and  that  someone  had  kissed  his  hands  with 
wet  cold  lips,  disgusting  lips,  like  a  frog's. — Had  kissed 
him,  and  had  implored  him,  with  tears  not  to  kill  them. 
Certain  faces  flitted  before  his  memory,  sounds  and  words 

245 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

resounded  in  it.    A  woman,  in  a  yellow  dressing-jacket,  un- 
buttoned on  her  breast,  had  sung,  in  a  loud,  sobbing  voice: 

**  And  thus  we  will  live  while  we  can.     . 

But  there — not  eren  the  grass  shall  grow  I  " 

All  these  people,  like  himself,  were  caught  by  the  same 
dark  billow,  and  were  being  borne  along  by  it,  like  rubbish, 
and  for  some  reason,  had  become  savage  like  wild  animals. 
All  of  them,  like  himself,  must  have  been  afraid  to  look 
ahead,  to  see  whither  this  madly-powerful  wave  was  carrying 
them.  And  as  they  drowned  their  terror  in  wine,  they  were 
torn  onward  with  the  current,  floundering,  shrieking,  do- 
ing something  silly,  playing  the  fool,  clamoring,  clamoring, 
and  they  were  never  merry.  And  he,  also,  did  the  same,  as 
he  whirled  among  them.  And  now  it  appeared  to  him  as 
though  he  had  done  all  this  out  of  fear  of  himself,  in  order 
the  more  speedily  to  pass  that  strip  of  his  life,  or,  in  order 
that  he  might  not  think  what  awaited  him  further  on. 

In  the  midst  of  the  hurly-burly  of  the  carouse,  in  the 
throng  of  people  engaged  in  the  debauch,  bewildered  with 
stormy  passions,  half  crazy  in  the  longing  to  forget  them- 
selves, Sasha  alone  had  always  been  calm  and  even-tem- 
pered. She  did  not  get  tipsy,  she  always  talked  with  people 
in  a  firm,  imperious  voice,  and  all  her  movements  were  con- 
fident, as  though  that  torrent  had  not  taken  possession  of 
her,  but  she  was  herself  guiding  its  tempestuous  course. 
She  seemed  to  Foma  the  most  clever  of  all  those  who  sur- 
rounded him,  and  the  most  eager  for  noise  and  carousing; 
she  ordered  them  all  about,  and  was  constantly  inventing 
something  new,  and  she  talked  with  everyone  in  the  same 
manner:  with  cab-drivers,  lackeys  and  sailors,  in  the  same 
tone,  with  the  same  words  as  with  her  friends  and  with 
Foma.     She  was  handsomer  and  younger  than  Pelagaya, 

246 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

but  somehow,  her  caresses  were  taciturn,  cold.  Foma 
imagined  that  she  was  concealing  from  everyone,  deep  down 
in  her  heart,  something  terrible,  that  she  would  never  fall 
in  love  with  anyone  and  reveal  her  whole  self.  This  re- 
serve in  the  woman  attracted  him  to  her  with  a  feeHng  of 
timorous  curiosity,  of  vast,  strained  interest  in  her  cold  and 
tranquil  soul,  dark  as  her  eyes. 

On  one  occasion  Foma  happened  to  say  to  her: 

"  But  what  a  lot  of  money  you  and  I  have  squandered!  " 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  asked: 

"  Why  should  you  hoard  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  fact  ? "  thought  Foma,  astonished  that  she 
should  reason  so  simply. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  he  asked  her,  on  another  occasion. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  my  name  ?  '' 

"  Well,  the  idea  of  such  a  thing ! " 

"  Then  what  is  it  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  was  inquiring  as  to  your  origin.'' 

"  Ah !  Well,  Fm  a  native  of  Yaroslavl  Government, — 
Fm  from  tJglitch,  of  the  petty  burgher  class.  A  harpist  I 
And  shall  I  be  any  the  sweeter  to  you,  now  that  you  have 
found  out  who  I  am  ? '' 

"  Have  I  found  out  ?  "  asked  Foma,  laughing. 

"  You  know  enough !  And  more,  I  will  not  tell  to  any- 
one. Why  should  I?  People  and  beasts  all  come  from 
one  place.  And  what  I  can  say  about  myself — to  what 
end  should  I  say  it?  All  these  conversations  are  stuff 
and  nonsense.  Come  now,  let's  plan  how  we  shall  live 
today." 

On  that  day  they  made  a  trip  on  a  steamer,  with  a  band 
of  music,  drank  champagne,  and  all  got  frightfully  in- 
toxicated. Sasha  sang  a  wonderfully  mournful  song,  and 
Foma  wept  like  a  child,  being  moved  with  her  singing. 

247 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Then  he  danced  the  "  Eussian  dance  '^  with  her,  and,  in 
conclusion,  dripping  with  perspiration  and  exhausted,  he 
flung  himself  overboard  in  his  clothes,  and  came  near 
drowning. 

Now,  as  he  recalled  all  this  and  much  more,  he  felt 
ashamed  of  himself  and  displeased  with  Sasha.  He 
gazed  at  her  graceful  figure,  listened  to  her  even  breath- 
ing, and  felt  that  he  did  not  love  this  woman  and  did  not 
want  her.  In  his  befuddled  brain  certain  gray,  oppres- 
sive thoughts  came  to  life.  It  was  as  though  everything 
which  he  had  experienced  during  that  period,  had  been 
twisted  up  within  him  into  a  heavy,  damp  ball,  and  now 
this  ball  was  rolling  in  his  breast,  softly  unwinding,  and 
the  thin,  gray  cords  were  binding  him  fast. 

"  What  is  this  that  is  going  on  in  me  ? ''  he  said  to  him- 
self. "Here  I  have  begun  to  carouse — why?  I  don^t 
know  how  to  live — I  don't  understand  myself.  What 
sort  of  a  fellow  am  I  ? '' 

He  was  struck  with  this  question,  and  paused  over  it, 
striving  to  think  it  out — why  he  was  not  able  to  live 
steadfastly  and  confidently,  as  others  live.  He  grew 
still  more  conscience-stricken  and  disquieted  over  this 
thought,  he  flung  himself  about  on  the  hay,  and  nudged 
Sasha  with  his  elbow,  in  vexation. 

"  Be  quiet !  "  she  said  in  her  sleep. 

"  AU  right, — ^you're  not  very  much  of  a  lady,"  muttered 
Foma.     "  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

She  turned  her  back  to  him,  and  yawning  luxuriously, 
she  began  lazily: 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  was  a  harp-player  again,  I  seemed 
to  be  singing  a  solo,  and  opposite  me  stood  a  great  big 
dirty  dog,  snarling  and  waiting  for  me  to  finish.     But  I 

248 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

was  afraid  of  the  dog,  and  I  knew  that  it  would  devour 
me  as  soon  as  I  stopped  singing — so  I  kept  on  singing, 
and  singing — and,  all  at  once,  it  seemed  as  though  my 
voice  gave  out.  Horrible!  And  the  dog  gnashed  its 
teeth.     .     Lord,  have  mercy!     What  does  it  portend ?*' 

"Stop  your  jabber!  ^^  Foma  gruffly  interrupted  her. 
''  See  here,  tell  me,  what  do  you  know  about  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  know  that  you  have  waked  up,''  she  replied, 
without  turning  toward  him. 

"  I  have  waked  up  ?  That's  true, — I  am  awake,"  said 
Foma  reflectively,  and  putting  his  arms  under  his  head, 
he  continued;  "That's  why, I  asked  you — what  sort  of 
a  man  am  I,  in  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  A  drunken  man,"  replied  Sasha  with  a  yawn. 

"  Alexandra !  "  exclaimed  Foma  beseechingly,  "  don't 
trifle!  Tell  me,  conscientiously,  what  do  you  think  of 
me?" 

"  I  don't  think  anything !  "  she  answered  drily.  "  Why 
are  you  so  persistent  with  your  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Is  it  nonsense  ?  "  said  Foma  sadly. — "  Oh,  you  devil ! 
It's  the  most  fundamental  thing — the  thing  I  need  the 
most." 

He  sighed  heavily,  and  relapsed  into  silence.  After 
lying  a  moment  in  silence  also,  Sasha  began,  in  her  cus- 
tomary, indifferent  voice: 

"  Tell  him  what  sort  of  a  fellow  he  is,  and  why  he  is 
so?  The  idea!  Is  it  proper  to  ask  such  women  as  we 
about  that  sort  of  thing?  And  where's  the  good  of  my 
thinking  about  every  man?  I  have  to  think  about  my- 
self, and,  moreover,  I  haven't  time, — and,  perhaps,  too, 
I  don't  want  to  do  it." 

Foma  gave  a  dry  laugh,  and  said: 

"  I'd  like  to  be  like  that     .     .     .     and  not  wish  for 

anything ! " 

249 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Then  the  woman  raised  her  head  from  the  pillow,  took 
a  look  at  Foma's  face,  and  lay  down  again,  saying : 

"  You're  getting  subtle.  Look  out — no  good  will  come 
to  you  of  that.  I  can't  say  anything  about  you.  No  one 
can  say  anything  true  about  a  man — who  can  understand 
him?  He  doesn't  even  understand  himself.  Well,  see 
here  now,  one  thing  I  will  say  about  you, — ^j^ou're  better 
than  the  others.     But  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  And  how  am  I  better  ?  "  asked  Foma  pensively. 

"  Why— in  this  way !  When  a  fine  song  is  sung,  you 
weep  .  .  if  a  man  does  a  mean  thing,  you  thrash  him. 
With  women  you  are  simple, — you  don't  behave  indecor- 
ously with  them — you're  peaceable, — well,  and  you  can  be 
audacious,  on  occasion." 

All  this  did  not  satisfy  Foma. 

"  You're  not  telling  me  the  right  thing,"  he  said 
softly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  want.  But  see  here : 
they're  raising  the  barge — what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  asked  Foma. 

"  Let's  go  to  Nizhni  or  to  Kazan." 

"Why?" 

"  We'll  carouse." 

"I  don't  want  to  carouse  any  more." 

"What  will  you  do  then?" 

"\\liat?    Nothing." 

"Ee-eally?" 

And,  for  a  long  time,  neither  spoke,  nor  even  looked 
at  each  other. 

"You  have  a  difficult  character,"  remarked  Sasha. — 
"  A  tiresome  character." 

"  Nevertheless,  I'm  not  going  to  get  drunk  any  more  I  " 
said  Foma  firmly,  and  confidently. 

250 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Nonsense !  "  retorted  Sasha  calmly. 

"  You'll  see !  What  do  you  think  about  it — ^is  it  well 
to  live  so?" 

"  I  shall  see.'' 

"No,  tell  me,  is  it  well?" 

"What  is  better?" 

Foma  looked  askance  at  her,  and  said,  with  vexation: 

"  What  disgusting  words  you  use." 

"Well,  and  I  haven't  pleased  him  yet!"  said  Sasha, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  The  mob ! "  said  Foma,  contracting  his  face  in  pain. 
"They're  like  a  piece  of  wood.  They  live,  also  .  . 
but  how?  No  one  understands.  They  are  crawling 
somewhere  or  other  —  and  they  can't  say  anything  to 
themselves  or  to  anyone  else.  A  cockroach  crawls — but 
he  knows  where  he  wants  to  go  and  why  .  .  .  but 
how  about  you?     Where  are  you  going.     ." 

"  Stop ! "  Sasha  interrupted  him,  and  composedly  in- 
quired :  "  What  have  you  to  do  with  me  ?  You  take 
from  me  what  you  want,  but  don't  you  try  to  creep  into 
my  soul ! " 

"Into  your  —  so-oul!"  drawled  Foma  scornfully. 
"Into  what  soul?    He-he!" 

She  began  to  walk  about  the  room,  collecting  her  cloth- 
ing, which  was  scattered  everywhere.  Foma  watched  her, 
and  was  displeased  because  she  did  not  get  angry  with 
him  for  his  remark  about  her  soul.  Her  visage  was  calm 
and  indifferent,  as  usual,  but  he  longed  to  see  her  vi- 
cious or  insulted,  he  wanted  something  human  from  the 
woman. 

"  Soul ! "  he  exclaimed,  persisting  in  his  attempt. 
"  Can  an  individual  who  has  a  soul  live  as  you  live  ?  In 
the  soul  fire  burns — it  feels  shame.     ." 

251 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

At  that  moment,  she  was  sitting  on  the  bench,  putting 
on  her  stockings,  but  at  his  words,  she  raised  her  head, 
and  rivetted  her  stern  eyes  upon  his  countenance. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  "  inquired  Foma. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  she  replied,  not  removing 
her  eyes  from  him. 

"  Because — I  felt  that  I  must." 

"  Look  out — must  you  ?  '^ 

There  was  a  menacing  note  in  her  voice.  Foma  felt 
afraid  of  her,  and  the  provocation  had  vanished  from  his 
voice  when  he  said: 

"  How  can  I  help  speaking  ?  " 

"E-ekh,  you  simpleton!"  sighed  Sasha,  and  resumed 
her  dressing. 

"But  what  am  I?" 

"  Why,  this.  .  You  are  as  though  born  of  two  fathers. 
Do  you  know  what  I  have  remarked  about  people  ?  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  The  man  who  cannot  answer  for  himself  is  afraid  of 
himself,  and  he  isnH  worth  a  farthing ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  for  me  ? "  asked  Foma,  after  a 
pause. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

She  threw  over  her  shoulders  a  capacious  rose-colored 
dressing-gown,  and  as  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  Foma,  who  was  lying 
at  her  feet,  saying  in  a  low,  suppressed  voice: 

"  Don^t  you  dare  to  speak  about  my  soul.  You  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it!  Therefore — hold  your  tongue! 
I — may  speak !  If  I  choose,  I  could'  tell  you  all — ekh, 
what  could  I  not  tell  you !  Only,  who  will  dare  to  listen 
to  me,  if  I  talk  at  the  top  of  my  voice  ?  But  I  have  some 
words  about  you — they^re  like  hammers!     I  could  give 

252 


Fom4  Gordydeff 

you  all  such  a  rap  over  your  pates — that  you'd  go  crazy. 
But  although  you  are  all  villains,  you  can't  be  cured  with 
words.  You  ought  to  be  burned  in  the  fire  —  just  as 
frying-pans  are  burned  out  on  the  first  Monday  in  Lent." 

Tossing  her  hands  to  her  head,  she  impetuously  loos- 
ened her  hair,  and  when  it  fell  over  her  shoulders,  in 
heavy  black  tresses,  the  woman  shook  her  head  proudly, 
and  said  with  scorn: 

"  Don't  take  into  consideration  that  I'm  a  woman  of 
gay  habits!  It  does  happen  sometimes,  that  a  man  in 
the  mire  lives  more  cleanly  than  he  who  strolls  about  in 
silks.  .  .  You  ought  to  know  what  I  think  of  you,  you 
dog,  what  malice  I  cherish  against  you!  And  because 
of  the  malice,  I  hold  my  peace  .  .  because  I'm  afraid 
that  if  I  squander  it  on  you,  my  soul  will  be  empty,  I 
shall  have  nothing  left  to  live  for." 

Foma  gazed  at  her,  and  she  pleased  him  now.  In  her 
words  there  was  something  akin  to  his  mood.  Laugh- 
ingly, with  satisfaction  in  his  voice  and  on  his  face,  he 
said  to  her: 

"  And  I  feel  the  same — something  is  springing  up  in 
my  soul.  Ekh,  I,  too,  will  express  myself  in  my  own 
words  when  the  time  comes." 

"  Against  whom  ?  "  inquired  Sasha  carelessly. 

"  I — against  everyone !  "  cried  Foma,  springing  to  his 
feet. — "  Against  falsehood.     I'll  ask     .     ." 

"  Ask  whether  the  samovar  is  ready  ?  "  Sasha  ordered 
him,  indifferently. 

Foma  looked  at  her,  and  shouted  angrily: 

"  Go  to  the  devil !     Ask  yourself." 

"Well,  I  will.     What  are  you  snarling  about?'' 

And  she  quitted  the  cottage. 

The  wind  was  flying  in  sharp  gusts  across  the  river, 

253 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

beating  its  bosom,  and  the  stream,  covered  with  troubled, 
tempestuous  waves,  was  rushing  convulsively  to  meet  the 
wind  with  a  noisy  dashing,  and  all  in  a  foam  of  wrath. 
The  willow  bushes  on  the  shore  bent  low  to  the  earth, 
quivering,  and  now  tried  to  lie  prone  upon  the  ground, 
now  wrenched  themselves  far  away  from  it  in  terror,  pur- 
sued by  the  blows  of  the  wind.  Through  the  air  was 
borne  a  whistling,  a  roaring,  and  a  thick  groaning,  wrest- 
ed from  the  breasts  of  scores  of  people: 

"  It's  coming — coming — coming !  *' 

This  exclamation,  curt  as  a  blow,  and  heavy  as  the 
breath  of  a  huge  breast,  panting  with  exertion,  was 
wafted  across  the  river,  fell  upon  its  waves  as  though 
encouraging  them  in  their  stormy  play  with  the  waves, 
and  they  flung  themselves  mightily  against  the  shores. 

By  the  hill-shore,  at  anchor,  lay  two  empty  barges,  and 
their  lofty  masts,  rising  heavenward,  rocked  alarmingly 
from  side  to  side,  as  though  engaged  in  sketching  out  an 
invisible  pattern  on  the  sky.  Both  decks  of  the  barges 
were  encumbered  with  scaffoldings,  constructed  of  thick, 
light-brown  beams;  huge  pulleys  were  hanging  every- 
where; chains  and  cables  were  suspended  from  them, 
swinging  through  the  air;  the  links  of  the  chains  clashed 
faintly. — A  throng  of  peasants  in  blue  and  red  shirts 
were  dragging  a  large  beam  along  the  deck,  and  tramping 
heavily,  were  grunting  with  the  full  power  of  their  lungs : 

"  Heave-ho,  heave-ho,  heave-ho!  " 

Big  blue  and  red  balls  of  human  bodies  clung  to  the 
scaffoldings  in  every  direction;  the  wind,  inflating  the 
shirts  and  trousers,  imparted  to  the  men  weird  forms, 
making  them  now  hump-backed,  now  spherical  and 
puffed-up  like  bladders.  The  men  on  the  scaffoldings 
and  decks  of  the  barges  were  binding  something,  hew- 

264 


Fomi  Gordydeff 

ing,  sawing,  driving  in  nails,  and  in  every  direction 
gleamed  huge  arms,  with  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  above 
the  elbow.  The  wind  disseminated  chips  and  a  varied 
lively,  energetic  noise  upon  the  air:  a  saw  gnawed  at  the 
wood,  chuckling  with  spiteful  glee;  beams  groaned  and 
sighed  drily,  wounded  by  the  axes;  the  planks  crashed 
painfully,  as  they  split  beneath  the  blows  dealt  them;  a 
plane  squealed  spitefully.  The  iron  shriek  of  the  chains, 
and  the  groaning  screech  of  the  pidleys  were  merged 
with  the  angry  uproar  of  the  waves,  while  the  wind 
howled  sonorously,  disseminating  over  the  river  the 
sound  of  the  labors,  and  drove  the  clouds  across  the  sky. 

"  Mishka-a!  Fire  it  u-up!  "  came  a  ringing  shout  from 
somewhere  at  the  top  of  the  scaffolding.  And  a  huge 
peasant,  on  the  deck,  throwing  back  his  head,  replied: 

"  Wha-at  ? ''  and  the  wind,  playing  with  his  long,  red- 
dish beard,  flung  it  in  his  face.     "  Gi-ive  us  the  end     .     ." 

Someone's  resounding  bass  voice  shouted,  as  though 
through  a  speaking-trumpet: 

"  You  blind  devil,  how  did  you  fasten  on  the  board  ? 
Don't  you  see  ?    Til  rub  your  eyes  open  for  you ! '' 

"  Pu-ull  awa-ay,  my  la-ads !  " 

"  Heave-ho,  my  hea-arties! "  cried  out  someone,  im- 
ploringly, in  a  high-pitched  voice. 

Foma,  handsome  and  well-built,  in  a  short  cloth  pea- 
jacket  and  tall  boots,  stood  with  his  back  propped  against 
a  mast,  and  plucking  at  his  beard,  with  tremulous  hand, 
admired  the  daring  work  of  the  peasants.  The  noise 
which  hovered  around  him,  aroused  in  him  a  genuine 
longing  to  shout,  to  create  an  uproar  with  the  peasants, 
to  hew  wood,  drag  weights,  give  orders — make  everyone 
direct  their  attention  to  him,  and  show  to  everyone  his 
strength,  skill,  and  the  alert  spirit  in  him.     But  he  re- 

255 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

strained  himself  and  stood  silent,  motionless:  he  felt 
ashamed  and  afraid  of  something.  He  was  embarrassed 
by  the  fact  that  he  was  the  master  over  them  all  there, 
and  that  if  he  were  to  set  to  work  himself,  no  one  would 
believe,  in  all  probability,  that  he  was  working  simply  to 
please  himself,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  spurring  them  on, 
setting  them  an  example.  And  the  peasants  would,  prob- 
ably, jeer  at  him,  to  boot. 

A  young  fellow  with  curly,  auburn  hair,  whose  shirt- 
collar  was  unbuttoned,  kept  running  past  him,  now  with 
a  plank  on  his  shoulder,  again  with  an  axe  in  his  hand; 
he  skipped  like  a  gambolling  goat,  scattering  around  him 
his  merry,  ringing  laughter,  jests,  vehement  oaths,  and 
working  unweariedly,  aiding  now  one,  now  another,  run- 
ning swiftly  and  agilely  across  the  deck  encumbered  with 
chips  and  wood.  Foma  watched  him  intently,  and  envied 
the  gay  young  fellow,  from  whom  emanated  something 
healthy,  stimulating. 

"  He  must  be  happy,''  thought  Foma,  and  this  idea 
evoked  in  him  a  sharp,  piercing  desire  to  abuse  the  fel- 
low, to  abash  him.  All  around  him  were  possessed  with 
the  ardor  of  urgent  work,  all  were  energetically  and 
rapidly  making  fast  the  scaffoldings,  arranging  pulleys,  pre- 
paring to  raise  the  sunken  barge  from  the  bottom  of  the 
river;  all  were  alertly  cheerful,  and — were  alive.  But  he 
stood  apart  from  them,  not  knowing  what  he  could  do, 
understanding  nothing,  feeling  himself  superfluous  in  this 
big  undertaking.  It  offended  him  to  think  that  he  was 
superfluous  among  the  men,  and  the  more  he  watched 
them,  the  stronger  did  this  sense  of  offense  become.  And 
what  stung  him  most  of  all  was  the  thought,  that  all  this 
was  being  done  for  him,  but  that  he  had  no  hand  in  the 
matter. 

256 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"  Where  is  my  place  ?  "  he  thought  sullenly.  "  Where 
is  my  business?  Am  I  a  monster?  I  have  as  much 
strength  as  any  of  them.     Of  what  use  is  it  to  me  ?  ^' 

The  chains  rattled,  the  pulleys  groaned,  the  blows  of 
the  axes  rang  sonorously  over  the  river,  and  the  barges 
rocked  under  the  buffets  of  the  waves  .  .  but  it 
seemed  to  Foma  as  though  he  rocked  not  because  the 
deck  was  rolling  under  his  feet,  but  because  he  did  not 
understand  how  to  stand  firm  on  anything,  it  was  not  his 
fate  to  do  so. 

The  contractor,  an  insignificant  little  peasant  with  a 
pointed,  grayish  beard,  and  narrow  slits  of  eyes  in  his 
gray,  wrinkled  visage,  stepped  up  to  him,  and  said,  not 
loudly,  but  with  a  certain  peculiar  distinctness  in  his 
words : 

'^  We  have  prepared  everything,  Foma  Ignatievitch, 
everything  is  in  good  shape  now.  We'd  better  ask  a 
blessing  and  begin." 

"  Well,  begin,"  said  Foma  curtly,  turning  away  from 
the  piercing  glance  of  the  peasant's  narrow  eyes. 

"  Then  glory  to  Thee,  0  Lord ! "  said  the  contractor, 
deliberately  buttoning  up  his  vest,  and  assuming  an  air 
of  dignity.  Then,  slowly  turning  his  head,  he  surveyed 
the  scaffoldings  on  the  barges,  separated  by  a  strip  of 
water  about  five  fathoms  wide,  and  suddenly  uttered  a 
ringing  shout: 

"  To  your  pla-aces,  my  lads !  " 

The  peasants  scattered  over  the  barges,  quickly  as- 
sembling in  separate  dense  groups  at  the  windlasses, 
along  the  sides,  and  ceased  talking.  Several  climbed  up 
with  agility  upon  the  scaffoldings,  and  thence  looked 
silently  on,  holding  on  to  ropes. 

"  Look  out,  boys ! "  rang  out  the  contractor's  sonorous, 

257 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

quiet  voice.  "Is  everything  as  it  should  be?  Every- 
thing must  be  ready  before  we  begin.  Now — pray  to 
God!^^ 

And,  flinging  his  cap  on  the  deck,  the  contractor  raised 
his  face  heavenward,  and  began  to  cross  himself  vehe- 
mently. And  all  the  peasants,  raising  their  heads  toward 
the  clouds,  also  began  to  flourish  their  arms  broadly,  mak- 
ing the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  their  breasts.  Some  prayed 
aloud,  and  a  dull,  suppressed  murmur  mingled  with  the 
tumult  of  the  waves. 

"Bless,  0  Lord!  0,  all-holy  Birth-Giver  of  God  .  . 
Saint  Nicholas     .     ." 

Foma  heard  these  exclamations,  and  they  lay  upon  his 
soul  like  a  heavy  weight.  All  heads  were  bared,  he  alone 
had  forgotten  to  remove  his  cap,  and  the  contractor,  hav- 
ing finished  his  prayer,  insinuatingly  advised  him; 

"  You  would  do  well  to  petition  the  Lord     .     ." 

"  Mind  your  own  business — don't  instruct  me !  "  re- 
plied Foma,  with  an  angry  glance  at  him.  The  further 
the  matter  proceeded,  the  more  afflicting  and  humiliating 
did  it  become  to  him,  to  see  that  he  was  superfluous 
among  these  men,  so  calmly  confident  of  their  own  powers, 
ready  to  raise  for  him  several  thousand  poods  from  the 
bed  of  the  river.  He  wished  that  they  might  fail,  that 
all  of  them  might  be  put  to  shame  before  him,  and  an 
evil  thought  flashed  through  his  mind: 

"  Perhaps  the  chains  will  break." 

"  My  lads !  Listen !  "  shouted  the  contractor. — "  All 
of  you  begin  together.  .  *  Bless,  0  Lord! '  "  And,  all  at 
once,  folding  his  hands  in  the  air,  he  shouted  in  a  piercing 
tone: 

"  Gi-i-i-ive  wa-a-ay! " 

The  workmen  caught  his  shout,  and  all  shouted,  in  ex- 
citement and  with  a  strong  effort: 

258 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"  Gi-i-ive  wa-ay!    Heave-ho!  " 

The  pulleys  whined  and  screeched,  the  chains  rattled, 
straining  under  the  load  which  was  suddenly  suspended 
from  them,  and  the  workmen,  bracing  their  breasts 
against  the  bars  of  the  windlasses,  roared  and  tramped 
heavily  across  the  deck.  The  waves  plashed  noisily  be- 
tween the  barges,  as  though  unwilling  to  yield  up  their 
prey  to  the  men.  Everywhere  around  Foma,  the  cables, 
chains,  and  ropes  strained  and  quivered  with  the  effort; 
they  crawled  over  the  deck  past  his  feet,  like  huge,  gray 
worms,  rising  link  by  link,  fell  thence  with  a  creak,  but 
the  deafening  roar  of  the  workmen  drowned  all  other 
sounds. 

"  He-eave  a-awa-ay,  heave  away,  heave,''  they  sang  me- 
lodiously and  triumphantly.  But  the  ringing  voice  of 
the  contractor  pierced  and  cut  the  thick  flood  of  their 
voices  as  a  knife  cuts  bread: 

"  My  la-a-ads !  Pull  away — all  together  .  .  all  to- 
gether!" 

A  strange  emotion  took  possession  of  Foma:  he  felt  a 
passionate  longing  to  pour  himself  into  that  excited  roar 
of  the  workmen,  broad  and  mighty  as  the  river,  into  that 
irritating  grating,  shriek  and  scream  of  iron,  and  stormy 
plashing  of  the  waves.  The  perspiration  started  out 
upon  his  face  with  the  strength  of  his  longings,  and,  all 
at  once,  tearing  himself  away  from  the  mast,  pale  with 
excitement,  he  rushed  with  huge  strides  to  a  windlass, 
with: 

"  All  to-ge-ether !  All  to-ge-ether !  "  he  shouted  in  "a 
fierce  voice.  On  reaching  the  windlass-bar,  he  applied 
his  breast  to  it  with  a  dash,  and,  unconscious  of  the  pain, 
he  began,  with  a  roar,  to  walk  round  the  windlass,  brac- 
ing his  feet  powerfully  against  the  deck.     A  mighty, 

259 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

burning  sensation  flooded  his  breast,  replacing  the  forces 
which  he  expended  in  turning  the  hand-spike.  Ineffable 
joy  raged  within  him,  and  found  outward  vent  in  an  ex- 
cited shout.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  alone,  by  his  own 
unaided  power,  was  turning  the  hand-spike,  which  was 
raising  the  weight,  and  that  his  strength  kept  growing 
and  growing.  Bending  down,  and  lowering  his  head,  he 
strode  like  a  bull  to  meet  the  burden,  which  was  pushing 
him  back,  yet  yielding  to  him,  nevertheless.  Every  step 
forward  excited  him  more  and  more,  every  exertion  ex- 
pended was  instantly  replaced  within  him  by  an  inrush 
of  seething,  tempestuous  pride.  His  head  swam,  his 
eyes  were  suffused  with  blood,  he  saw  nothing,  and  all  he 
felt  was,  that  they  were  yielding  to  him,  that  he  was  con- 
quering, that  before  long  he  would  overthrow  with  his 
strength  something  huge  which  barred  his  path, — would 
overthrow  it,  would  triumph,  and  then  he  would  breathe 
freely  and  easily,  filled  with  proud  delight.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  experienced  such  a  mighty,  inspiring 
sensation,  and  he  gulped  it  down  with  all  the  force  of  his 
thirsty,  hungry  soul,  became  intoxicated  with  it,  and 
poured  forth  his  joy  in  loud,  exultant  shouts,  in  harmony 
with  the  workmen: 

"  Heave  away  all,  heave  away,  heave !  ^' 

"  Ha-alt !     Make  fast !     Halt,  boys !  " 

Foma  was  struck  in  the  breast,  and  hurled  backwards. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  a  successful  ending,  Foma 
Ignatievitch! "  said  the  contractor,  and  the  wrinkles  quiv- 
ered over  his  face  in  joyous  rays.  "  Glory  to  Thee,  0 
Lord !     I  think  you  must  be  tired  ?  " 

The  cold  wind  blew  in  Foma's  face.  A  contented, 
boastful  uproar  surged  around  him;  the  peasants  ap- 
proached him,  cursing  each  other  in  a  friendly  way,  merry, 

260 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

with  smiles  on  their  sweaty  faces,  and  surrounded  him 
in  a  close  circle.  He  smiled  abstractedly :  the  excitement 
within  him  had  not  yet  calmed  down,  and  did  not  allow 
him  to  comprehend  what  had  happened,  and  why  every- 
one around  him  was  joyous  and  contented. 

"  One  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  poods  we  have 
pulled  up,  like  a  radish  from  a  garden-bed! "  said  some- 
one. 

"  We  ought  to  get  a  bucket  of  liquor  from  the  master.^' 

Foma,  standing  on  a  coil  of  cable,  looked  over  the  heads 
of  the  workmen  and  saw:  between  the  barges,  side  by  side 
with  them,  a  third  barge  had  made  its  appearance,  black, 
slippery,  broken,  wrapped  about  with  chains.  It  was  all 
warped,  it  seemed  all  swelled  up  with  some  terrible  dis- 
ease, and  weak,  and  clumsy,  it  hung  over  the  water  be- 
tween its  companions,  leaning  upon  them.  The  broken 
mast  projected  from  its  midst  in  a  melancholy  way; 
across  the  deck,  all  covered  with  spots  of  rust,  trickled 
reddish  streams  of  water,  which  resembled  blood.  Every- 
where about  the  deck  lay  piles  of  iron,  black,  soaked  frag- 
ments of  wood,  ropes. 

"  Have  you  raised  it  ?  "  asked  Foma,  not  knowing  what 
he  ought  to  say  at  the  sight  of  this  hideous,  heavy  mass, 
and  again  experiencing  a  sense  of  injury  at  the  thought 
that  his  soul  had  seethed  so,  that  he  had  so  rejoiced  mere- 
ly at  raising  from  the  water  that  dirty,  shattered  mon- 
ster. 

"Deuce  take  it,^'  said  Foma  irresolutely,  to  the  con- 
tractor. 

"  It's  all  right!  We'll  unload  it  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  send  a  gang  of  twenty  carpenters  aboard — they'll 
soon  bring  it  into  shape! "  said  the  contractor,  in  a  con- 
soling voice. 

261 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

But  the  auburn-haired  young  fellow,  smiling  gaily  and 
broadly  in  Foma's  face,  inquired: 

"  Are  we  going  to  get  any  vodka  ?  '^ 

"  There's  plenty  of  time ! "  said  the  contractor  gruffly 
to  him. — "  Don't  you  see — the  man  is  tired.     /' 

Then  the  peasants  spoke  up: 

"  Of  course  he's  tired !  " 

"  'Twas  no  easy  job !  " 

"  Naturally,  a  man  gets  tired  over  work  he  isn't  used  to." 

"  It's  hard  to  eat  buckwheat  groats  even,  if  you  aren't 
used  to  it." 

"I'm  not  tired,"  said  Foma  sullenly,  and  again  the 
respectful  shouts  of  the  peasants  rang  out,  as  they  gath- 
ered more  closely  around  him. 

"  Work's  pleasant,  to  anyone  who  likes  it." 

"  It's  regular  play." 

"  It's  like  fondling  a  woman." 

Only  the  auburn-haired  young  man  would  not  yield  his 
point : 

"  Your  Honor !  Are  we  to  have  the  liquor,  hey  ?  "  he 
said,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh. 

Fomd  looked  at  the  bearded  faces  before  him,  and  felt 
a  desire  to  say  something  insulting  to  them.  But  his 
head  was  still  muddled,  he  could  find  no  ideas  in  it,  and, 
at  last,  taking  in  the  sense  of  their  remarks,  he  said 
angrily: 

"  All  you  want  is  to  get  drunk !  You  don't  care  what 
you  do!  You  ought  to  reflect — why?  To  what  pur- 
pose ?    Ekh,  you  rascals !  " 

Amazement  was  depicted  on  the  countenances  of  the 
men  about  him;  the  bearded  figures,  blue  and  red,  began  to 
sigh,  to  scratch  their  heads,  to  shift  from  foot  to  foot. 
Some,  after  a  despairing  glance  at  Foma,  turned  away. 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Well — well!''  said  the  contractor^  drawing  a  deep 
breath.  "  There's  no  harm  done !  That  is  to  say — con- 
sidering for  what  and  how.  .  The  words — are  sensi- 
ble.    ." 

The  auburn-haired  young  man  stuck  to  his  peculiar 
opinion;  he  waved  his  hand,  with  a  good-natured  smile, 
and  announced: 

"  It  isn't  our  place  to  ponder  over  our  work !  It's  our 
business  to  conquer  it!  Our  job  is  simple:  to  do  the 
work,  and  get  the  pay — and,  glory  to  Thee,  Oh  Lord  I  We 
can  do  everything !  " 

"  But  do  you  know  what  you  ought  to  do  ? "  interro- 
gated Foma,  irritated  by  this  contradiction. 

"  Why,  everything,  this  and  that.     ." 

"  But  Where's  the  sense?  " 

"  There's  sense  in  everything  for  our  class  alone — 
when  you've  earned  enough  for  bread  and  taxes, — ^live! 
And  if  there's  anything  over  for  liquor.     ." 

"Ekh  you!  "  exclaimed  Foma  disdainfully.  "  So  you're 
talking  also !     How  much  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Can  you  understand  our  business  ?  "  said  the  auburn- 
haired  fellow,  shaking  his  head.  He  had  got  tired  of 
talking  to  Foma;  he  suspected  him  of  a  disinclination  to 
give  money  for  vodka,  and  was  growing  somewhat  angry. 

"  Exactly  so !  "  said  Foma  didactically,  pleased  that  the 
young  fellow  had  yielded  to  him,  and  not  observing  the 
furtive,  jeering  glances.  "  He  who  does  understand  feels 
that  he  must  work  forever !  " 

"  For  God,  of  course !  "  explained  the  contractor,  look- 
ing round  at  the  peasants,  and  added,  with  a  pious  sigh: 
"  That's  true,  okh,  how  true  that  is!  " 

But  Fom4  was  inspired  with  the  longing  to  say  some- 
thing straightforward  and  weighty,  after  which  all  the 

263 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

men  would  bear  themselves  differently  toward  him,  for 
he  was  not  pleased  that  all  of  them,  except  the  auburn- 
haired  fellow,  maintained  silence,  and  stared  at  him  in 
a  hostile  way,  askance,  with  such  bored,  sullen  eyes. 

"  You  must  do  such  work,''  he  said,  contracting  his 
brows,  "  such  work  as — so  that  men  may  say,  a  thousand 
years  later:  '  See,  the  Bogorodskoe  peasants  did  that/ 
.     .     Yes." 

The  auburn-haired  fellow  glanced  at  Foma  in  surprise, 
and  asked: 

"  Are  we  to  drink  the  Volga  dry  ?  "  Then  he  snorted, 
and  wagging  his  head,  he  declared:  "  We  can't  do  that — 
we  should  all  burst ! " 

Foma  was  disconcerted  by  his  remarks,  and  looked 
about  him:  the  peasants  were  smiling  grimly,  scornfully, 
sarcastically.    .    And  their  smiles  stung  him  like  needles. 

A  grave-faced  peasant,  with  a  large  gray  beard,  who, 
up  to  that  time  had  not  opened  his  mouth,  now  suddenly 
opened  it,  stepped  up  to  Foma,  and  said  deliberately: 

"  But  even  if  we  were  to  drink  the  Volga  dry — and  eat 
up  yonder  mountains  to  boot, — even  that  would  be  for- 
gotten, your  Honor.  Everything  is  forgotten — life  is 
long.  It  is  not  for  us  to  do  such  deeds  as  stand  out  big 
above  all  the  others. — But  we  can  set  up  this  lumber 
here." 

He  spoke,  and  sceptically  spitting  at  his  feet,  he  walked 
indifferently  away  from  Foma,  and  disappeared  in  the 
throng,  like  a  wedge  in  a  tree.  His  speech  dealt  Foma 
the  finishing  blow;  he  felt  that  the  peasants  regarded 
him  as  stupid  and  ridiculous.  And,  in  order  to  save  his 
importance  as  master  in  their  eyes,  in  order  to  attract 
the  exhausted  attention  of  the  peasants  once  more  to 
himself,  he  swelled  out  his  chest,  puffed  out  his  cheeks 

264 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

in  an  absurd  manner,  and  blurted  out,  in  an  impressive 
voice : 

"  I  make  you  a  gift  of  three  buckets  of  liquor!  '^  * 

Brief  speeches  are  always  the  most  eloquent,  and  are 
always  apt  to  produce  a  powerful  impression.  The  peas- 
ants respectfully  made  way  for  Foma,  bowing  low  before 
him,  and  with  cheerful,  grateful  smiles,  thanked  him  for 
his  generosity  in  a  friendly  roar  of  approval. 

"  Take  me  over  to  the  shore,'^  said  Foma,  conscious 
that  the  newly-aroused  excitement  within  him  would  not 
last  long.  Some  worm  or  other  was  gnawing  at  his  heart, 
and  he  felt  bored.  "  I'm  disgusted  with  things ! "  he 
said,  entering  the  cottage,  where  Sasha,  in  a  smart  pink 
gown  was  bustling  about  the  table,  setting  out  wines  and 
light  refreshments. — "  Fm  disgusted,  Alexandra!  I  wish 
you'd  do  something  with  me,  can't  you  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  attentively,  and  seating  herself  on 
the  wall-bench,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him,  she  said: 

"  If  you're  disgusted,  it  signifies  that  you  want  some- 
thing.    What  is  it  that  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know! "  replied  Foma,  shaking  his  head 
mournfully. 

"  But  think — search     .     ." 

"I  don't  know  how  to  think.  JTothing  comes  of  my 
thinking." 

"  Ekh,  you — baby!  "  said  Sasha  softly,  and  with  immense 
scorn,  moving  away  from  him.  "  Your  head  is  superflu- 
ous to  you." 

Foma  did  not  catch  her  tone,  and  did  not  notice  her 
movement.  Eesting  his  hands  on  the  bench,  he  bent 
forward,  and  stared  at  the  floor,  rocking  his  whole  body 
to  and  fro: 

^Avedro,  or  bucket,  contains  2.70  gallons. —  Tramlaior. 

265 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Sometimes  you  think,  and  think, — and  thoughts  stick 
all  round  your  soul,  as  with  resin.  And,  all  at  once, 
everything  vanishes  from  you,  as  though  it  had  dropped 
through  the  earth.  Then,  it's  as  dark  in  your  soul  as 
in  a  cellar,  damp  and  utterly  empty  .  .  there's  noth- 
ing at  all  there!  It's  even  terrible, — as  though  you 
were  not  a  man,  but  a  bottomless  ravine.  What  do  I 
want?" 

Sasha  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him,  and  began  to  sing 
pensively,  in  an  undertone : 

"  Ekh,  and  when  the  wind  begins  to  blow — the  fog  will 
rise  up  from  the  sea." 

"I  don't  want  to  carouse — it's  repulsive!  It's  always 
the  same  thing,  over  and  over:  the  people,  the  amuse- 
ments, and  the  wine.  I  grow  malicious — I'd  like  to  beat 
everybody.  People  don't  please  me  —  what  are  they  ? 
You  can't  in  the  least  understand  them — why^ey  go  on 
living?  And  when  they  speak  the  truth,  whom  are  you 
to  listen  to  ?  One  says  one  thing,  another  another.  But 
I — can't  say  anything  at  all." 

"Ekh,  my  life  is  hateful  to  me,  dear,  without  thee," 
sang  Sasha,  gazing  at  the  wall  in  front  of  her. 

But  Foma  continued  to  rock  back  and  forth,  and  said : 

"  There  are  times  when  I  feel  m3^self  culpable  before 
people — they  all  live,  make  a  noise,  but  I  am  frightened, 
and  staggered.  And  I  don't  seem  to  feel  the  firm  earth 
beneath  me.  I  wonder  if  my  mother  endowed  me  with 
insensibility  ?  My  god-father  says  she  was  like  ice.  And 
she  was  always  longing  for  something.  So  am  I. — I  long 
for  people.  I'd  like  to  go  and  say :  '  Help  me,  my  breth- 
ren! Teach  me!  I  cannot  live!  But  if  I  am  to  blame, 
forgive  me ! '  I  look  about,  there  is  no  one  to  whom  to 
say  it.    No  one  wants  it — they're  all  rabble!    And  even 

266 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

if  they  were  worse  than  I  am — I^m  ashamed  to  live  as  I 
am  living, — but  they  don't  mind  it!     They  act     .     .     ." 

Foma  uttered  a  violent,  unseemly  oath,  and  fell  silent. 
Sasha  broke  off  her  song,  and  moved  still  further  away 
from  him.  The  wind  was  howling  outside  the  windows, 
flinging  dust  against  the  panes.  On  the  oven  cockroaches 
were  rustling,  as  they  climbed  up  a  bundle  of  pine-knots 
for  lighting.  A  calf  was  bellowing  pitifully  somewhere 
out  of  doors. 

Sasha  glanced  at  Foma  with  a  sneer,  and  said : 

"  There's  another  unhappy  wretch  bellowing.  You 
ought  to  go  to  him;  perhaps  you  could  sing  together.  .'' 
And  laying  her  hand  on  his  curly  head,  she  playfully 
pushed  it  on  one  side. 

"You  ought  to  reflect  as  to  w^hat  such  people  as  you 
are  good  for.  Why  do  you  squeal  ?  If  you  are  disgusted 
with  carousing — occupy  yourself  with  business." 

"  0  Lord ! ''  and  Foma  shook  his  head,  "  it's  difficult  to 
express  myself  so  that  you  will  understand — difficult !  " 
— And  he  almost  shouted  with  vexation :  "  What  busi- 
ness? I  have  no  inclination  for  business!  What  busi- 
ness? Only  a  name — business,  but  if  you  look  into  it 
deeply,  go  to  the  root  of  it,  it's  nonsense !  Don't  I  under- 
stand that?  I  understand  everything,  I  see  everything, 
I  feel  everything!  Only — my  tongue  is  dumb.  What 
profit  is  there  in  business  affairs?  Money?  I  have  plenty 
of  it!  I  can  choke  you  to  death  with  it,  bury  you  over 
your  head  with  it.  All  business  affairs  are  mere  fraud. 
I  see  men  of  business — well,  and  what  of  that?  They 
are  very  greedy, — and  yet  they  busy  themselves  with 
affairs  for  the  express  purpose  of  not  seeing  themselves. 
They  hide  themselves,  the  devils.  Now,  release  them 
from  those  anxieties, — what  will  happen?     They  will  be- 

267 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

gin  to  rush  about  hither  and  thither  like  blind  men — 
they  lose  every  idea, — they  go  crazy!  I  know  it!  But 
you  think,  if  a  man  has  a  business,  he  will  be  happy? 
N"o,  nonsense, — something  else  is  required, — he  hasn't 
everything  yet!  The  river  flows,  that  men  may  sail 
upon  it,  wood  grows  for  use,  dogs  grow  to  guard  the  house, 
— you  can  find  a  justification  for  everything  on  earth. 
But  men,  like  cockroaches,  are  altogether  superfluous  on 
the  earth.  Everything  is  for  them — and  what  are  they 
for?    Aha?    Where  is  their  justification?    Ha,  ha!'' 

Foma  was  triumphant.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
found  something  which  was  good  for  himself,  and  mighty 
against  people.  And  conscious  of  a  great  joy  within  him, 
he  laughed  loudly. 

"Doesn't  your  head  ache?"  Sasha  inquired  anxiously, 
gazing  into  his  face  with  a  searching  look. 

"  My  soul  aches !  "  exclaimed  Foma  passionately.  "  And 
it  aches,  because — it  is  upright — it  will  not  be  reconciled 
to  pettiness.  Give  it  an  answer,  how  to  live?  for  what? 
There's  my  god-father — he's  clever!  He  says — make 
your  life!  He's  the  only  one  who  does.  Well,  I  say  to 
him,  wait !  But  everyone  else  says,  life  has  devoured  us ! 
Life  has  stifled  us.  And  I  inquire  of  them.  And  how  is 
life  to  be  made?  To  that  end,  it  must  be  held  in  the 
hands  .  .  it  must  be  controlled.  You  can't  make 
even  a  pot  without  holding  it  in  your  hands." 

"  Hearken  to  me,"  said  Sasha  gravely,  "  I  think  you 
ought  to  marry — that's  all  there  is  to  it!  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Foma,  twitching  his  shoulders. 

"  You  need  the  halter." 

"  All  right !  I'm  living  with  you.  You're  all  alike,  I 
think.  One  is  no  sweeter  than  another.  I  had  a  woman 
before  you    .     .    of  the  same  sort  as  yourself.     No,  she 

268 


Foma  Gordy^eft' 

did  it  of  her  own  free  will — she  took  a  liking  to  me  and 
— consented.  She  was  good — however,  she  was  just  like 
you,  only  you  are  handsomer.  .  But  I  took  a  fancy  to  a 
certain  lady, — a  real  lady,  a  noblewoman!  They  said  she 
was  depraved.  But  I  did  not  get  her.  We-ell  then. 
She  was  clever,  well  educated, — she  lived  in  beauty.  I 
used  to  think,  sometimes, — here  I  shall  have  a  taste  of 
the  real  thing !  I  didnH  get  it — but  perhaps,  if  I  had  suc- 
ceeded, everything  would  have  taken  another  turn.  I 
longed  for  her.  .  I  thought  I  couldnH  tear  myself 
away.  But  now — I  have  been  drunk,  I  have  drowned  her 
with  wine,  .  .  I  am  forgetting  her.  .  And  that's 
not  right,  either.  Ekh,  you  man!  You're  a  rascal,  to 
speak  according  to  conscience.'' 

Foma  stopped,  and  fell  into  thought.  But  Sasha  rose 
from  the  bench,  and  paced  to  and  fro  in  the  cottage,  bit- 
ing her  lips.  Then  she  halted  in  front  of  him,  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  up  behind  her  head  she  said : 

"Do  you  know  what?    I'm  going  away  from  you." 

"Whither?"  asked  Foma,  without  raising  his  head. 

"I  don't  know, — it  doesn't  matter." 

"But  why?" 

"You're  always  saying  unnecessary  things.  It's  tire- 
some with  you — you  make  one  melancholy." 

Foma  raised  his  head,  looked  at  her,  and  broke  into  a 
mournful  laugh. 

"  Come  now !  you  don't  say  so !  " 

"You  do!  Now,  see  here:  If  I  think  it  over,  I 
understand  what  you  say,  and  why  you  say  it.  .  For 
I'm  one  of  that  sort  myself — when  my  time  comes,  I 
shall  grow  sad,  also.  And  then  I  shall  disappear.  But 
it's  early  for  me  yet.  No,  I  shall  go  on  living  for  a  while, 
and  then, — I  don't  care  what  happens !  " 

269 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"And  I,  also,  shall  disappear?"  asked  Foma  indiffer- 
ently, already  exhausted  with  his  harangues. 

"  Of  course ! "  replied  Sasha  calmly  and  confidently. 
"  All  such  people  disappear.  What  sort  of  life  can  a  per- 
son have  whose  character  is  not  brittle,  and  who  has  no 
brains?     That's  our  sort.     ." 

"  No,  I  have  no  character,"  said  Foma,  stretching  him- 
self.    Then  he  paused,  and  added:     "And  no  brains." 

Then  both  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  gazing  into 
each  other's  eyes. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  asked  Foma. 

"  We  must  dine." 

"  No,  in  general  ?     Afterwards  ?  " 

"  Afterwards  ?     I — I  don't  know." 

"  So  you  are  going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Let's  have  another  spree  by  way  of  farewell. 
Let's  go  to  Kazan,  and  there  we'll  have  a  carouse  with 
smoke  and  fire.     I'll  sing  your  dirge." 

"  We  can  do  that !  "  assented  Foma.  "  As  a  farewell — 
it's  proper.  Ekh,  you  devil!  Life  .  .  mirth!  But 
listen,  Sashka;  they  say  that  when  you  are  on  a  spree, 
you  are  greedy  of  money,  and  even  a  thief." 

"  Let  them  say  it,"  said  Sasha  coolly. 

"  Don't  you  feel  insulted  ?  "  asked  Foma,  with  curiosity. 
"  You  see,  you  are  not  greedy — it's  profitable  for  you  to 
be  with  me,  .  .  I'm  rich,  but  you  are  going  to  leave 
me     .     .     and  that  means  you  are  not  greedy." 

"I?"  Sasha  reflected,  and  said,  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand:  "Perhaps  I  am  not  greedy, — but  what  of  that? 
You  see,  I'm  not  thoroughly  base,  as  yet, — not  the  sort 
which  walks  the  streets.  But  feel  insulted — by  whom? 
Let  them  say  what  they  like.  If  people  do  talk,  they 
aren't  bulls  bellowing.     .     And  I  know  well  the  saintli- 

270 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ness  and  honesty  of  men,  ekh,  how  well  I  know  theml 
If  I  were  chosen  as  judge,  I  wouldn't  acquit  anyone  but 
a  dead  man ! "  And  breaking  into  an  evil  laugh,  Sasha 
said :  "  Come,  we\e  talked  enough  nonsense — seat  your- 
self at  the  table!" 

On  the  morning  of  the  following  day,  Foma  and  Sasha 
stood  on  the  gangway  of  a  steamer  which  was  approach- 
ing a  wharf  on  the  Ustye.  Sashays  huge  black  hat  at- 
tracted general  attention  among  the  spectators  by  its  au- 
daciously curved  brim  and  white  feathers,  .  and  Foma 
was  embarrassed  at  standing  by  her  side,  and  felt  the  curi- 
ous glances  creeping,  as  it  were,  over  his  face.  The 
steamer  was  hissing  and  quivering,  as  it  butted  its  sides 
against  the  landing,  sprinkled  with  a  crowd  of  people 
gaily  attired  in  summer  garments,  who  were  awaiting  it, 
and  it  seemed  to  Foma  that  he  descried  among  the  varied 
faces  and  figures  some  acquaintance  of  his,  who  kept 
dodging  behind  the  backs  of  the  people,  but  never  took  his 
eyes  from  him. 

"Let's  go  into  the  cabin! '^*  he  said  uneasily,  to  his 
friend. 

"  Don't  you  learn  to  hide  your  sins  from  people,"  re- 
plied Sasha,  with  a  laugh.  '^  Do  you  see  a  friend — is  that 
it?" 

"  Mm    .    .    ye-es.    Someone  is  watching  me." 

"  A  nurse  with  a  feeding-bottle  ?    Ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

"  There  you  go,  neighing  again ! "  said  Foma  with  a 
fierce  side-glance  at  her.     "  Do  you  think  Fm  afraid  ?  " 

"  I  perceive  your  bravery." 

"  You  will  perceive  it!  I'll  face  everybody,"  said 
Foma  viciously;  but,  after  casting  another  glance  at  the 
crowd  upon  the  wharf,  he  suddenly  changed  countenance, 
and  added  softly; 

271 


Foma  Gordyeeff 


« 


It's  my  god-father/' 

At  the  very  edge  of  the  landing,  squeezing  himself  be- 
tween two  female  steerage  passengers,  stood  Yakoff  Tara- 
sovitch  Mayakin,  waving  his  cap  in  the  air,  with  malicious 
courtesy,  with  his  face,  which  resembled  a  holy  picture, 
turned  upward.  His  beard  was  trembling,  his  bald 
spot  glistened  and  his  little  eyes  pierced  Foma  like 
augers. 

"A  regular  vulture! '^  muttered  Foma,  as  he  moved 
his  own  cap,  and  nodded  to  his  god-father. 

His  salutation  must  have  afforded  great  pleasure  to 
Mayakin. — The  old  man  seemed  to  writhe  all  over,  he 
stamped  his  feet,  and  his  face  lighted  up  with  a  spiteful 
smile. 

"  Evidently,  the  little  boy  will  get  some  money  for 
nuts!  "  said  Sasha  teasingly  to  Foma. 

Her  words,  joined  to  his  god-father's  smile,  burned  in 
Foma's  breast  like  live  coals. 

"  We  shall  see  what  will  happen,"  he  muttered  between 
his  teeth,  and  suddenly  grew  numb  in  angry  composure. 
The  steamer  made  its  landing,  and  the  people  rushed  in 
a  wave  to  the  wharf.  Mayakin,  hemmed  in  by  the  crowd, 
disappeared  for  a  moment  from  the  sight  of  his  god-son, 
then  dived  up  again,  smiling  with  a  sharp,  spitefully 
triumphant  grin.  Foma,  with  lowering  brows,  stared 
straight  at  him,  and  moved  to  meet  him,  walking  delib- 
erately across  the  gangway.  People  punched  him  in  the 
back,  jostled  him,  crowded  upon  him, — and  all  this  still 
further  excited  Foma.  Now  he  came  into  collision, 
breast  to  breast,  with  the  old  man,  and  the  latter  greeted 
him  with  a  courteous  bow  and  the  question: 

"Whither  are  you  pleased  to  journey,  Foma  Ignatie- 
vitch?" 

272 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  About  my  own  business/'  replied  Foma  firmly,  with- 
out replying  to  his  god-father's  greeting. 

"  Very  laudable,  my  dear  sir ! "  said  Yakoff  Taraso- 
vitch,  beaming  all  over  with  smiles.  "  What  relation 
does  the  lady  with  the  white  feathers  bear  to  you  ?  " 

"  She's  my  mistress,"  said  Foma  in  a  loud  voice,  with- 
out lowering  his  eyes  before  his  god-father's  sharp  gaze. 

Sasha  was  standing  behind  him  staring  calmly  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  little  old  man,  whose  head  did  not  come 
up  to  Foma's  chin.  The  public,  attracted  by  Foma's  loud 
words,  stared  at  them,  in  anticipation  of  a  scandalous 
scene.  Mayakin,  also,  immediately  perceiving  the  possi- 
bility of  a  scene,  instantaneously  and  accurately  gauged 
his  god-son's  mood„  He  contorted  his  wrinkles,  chewed 
his  lips,  and  said  peaceably  to  Foma: 

"  I  must  have  a  talk  with  you.  Will  you  come  to  the 
hotel  with  me?  " 

"  Yes,     .     .     but  not  for  long." 

"  You  haven't  the  time,  you  mean  ?  The  matter  is 
plain — you're  in  a  hurry  to  smash  up  another  barge  ?  " 
said  the  old  man,  unable  to  contain  himself. 

^^  And  why  not  smash  them,  if  they're  smashable?" 
retorted  Foma,  angrily  but  steadily. 

"  Of  course!  .  .  You  didn't  earn  them, — ^why 
should  you  spare  them?  Well,  come  along.  . — And 
couldn't  you  drown  that  lady  in  the  water  for  the  time 
being  ?  "  said  Mayakin  softly. 

"  Go  to  the  town,  Sasha,  and  engage  a  room  at  the 
Siberian  Inn.  .  I'll  be  there  before  long !  "  said  Foma, 
and  turning  to  Mayakin,  he  announced  boldly : 

"  I'm  ready !     Come  on ! " 

Both  of  them  walked  in  silence  to  the  hotel.  Foma, 
perceiving  that  his  god-father,  in  order  not  to  be  left  be- 

273 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

hind,  was  skipping  as  he  went,  deliberately  took  long 
strides,  and  the  fact  that  the  old  man  could  not  keep  up 
with  him,  maintained  and  augmented  in  him  the  stormy 
feeling  of  protest,  which  he  was,  by  this  time,  barely  able 
to  hold  in  check. 

"  My  dear  man !  "  said  Mayakin  suavely,  as  he  entered 
the  hall  of  the  hotel,  and  directed  his  steps  to  a  remote 
comer. — "  Bring  a  bottle  of  moor-berry  kvas." 

"  And  some  brandy  for  me,"  ordered  Foma. 

"  The-ere  now.  When  you  hold  a  bad  hand  you  always 
lead  your  lowest  trump ! "  Mayakin  advised  him,  with  a 
sneer. 

"  You  don^t  know  my  game !  ^'  said  Foma,  taking  his 
seat  at  the  table. 

"  Ee-eally  ?     Have  done !     Many  play  that  way.'' 

"How?'' 

"  Why,  hke  you — boldly  but  not  cleverly." 

"  I  play  so  that — either  the  pate  is  smashed  to  flinders 
or  the  wall  splits ! "  said  Foma  hotly,  and  pounded  the 
table  with  his  fist. 

"  Haven't  you  got  over  your  fit  of  intoxication  today 
yet  ?  "  inquired  Mayakin,  with  a  smile. 

Foma  drew  up  closer  to  the  table,  and,  with  a  face  dis- 
figured by  wrathful  emotion,  broke  out : 

"  Papa  god-father !  You're  a  clever  man — I  respect 
you  for  your  brains.     ." 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  son!  "  Mayakin  bowed  his  recogni- 
tion, rising  and  propping  his  hands  on  the  table. 

"  You're  very  welcome.  I  wish  to  say,  that  I'm  over 
twenty  years  old.     .     I'm  no  longer  a  child." 

"No  indeed!"  assented  Mayakin.  "You've  lived  a 
good  while,  there's  no  denying  it !  If  a  gnat  had  lived  as 
long,  he  would  have  grown  as  big  as  a  hen." 

274 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  stop  your  joking! "  said  Foma,  warningly,  and  did 
it  so  quietly  that  Mayakin  fairly  curled  up,  and  the  wrin- 
kles on  his  face  shook  in  alarm. 

**'  Why  have  you  come  hither  ?  "  asked  Foma. 

"  Ah — you've  been  behaving  outrageously  yonder,  and 
I  want  to  see — whether  you  have  exceeded  the  limits. 
You  see,  Tm  a  sort  of  relation  of  yours — I'm  the  only  one 
you  have.      " 

"  You're  troubling  yourself  for  nothing.  Now,  see 
here,  papa.  Either  give  me  complete  independence,  or 
else  take  my  entire  business  into  your  own  hands — take 
it  all!    To  the  very  last  ruble!  " 

This  proposition  burst  forth  from  Foma  quite  unex- 
pectedly to  himself;  he  had  never  even  thought  of  such 
a  thing  before.  But  now,  after  uttering  such  words  to 
his  god-father,  he  suddenly  realized,  that  if  his  god-father 
were  to  take  from  him  all  his  property, — he  would  be- 
come a  perfectly  free  man,  he  might  go  whithersoever  he 
chose,  do  whatsoever  he  pleased.  Up  to  that  moment 
he  had  been  bound  up  in  something  or  other,  but  did 
not  recognize  the  meshes  and  was  not  able  to  tear  them 
off,  but  now  they  were  falling  from  him  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, very  easily  and  simply.  An  alarming  and  joyous 
hope  flashed  up  in  his  breast,  he  seemed  to  perceive  that 
light  had  broken  in,  from  some  quarter,  upon  his  troubled 
life,  and  a  broad,  spacious  road  appeared  to  lie  before 
him.  Certain  images  were  begotten  in  his  brain,  and  as, 
with  amazement,  he  watched  them  shifting  and  changing, 
he  murmured  incoherently: 

"  There  .  .  .  that  is  the  best  way!  Take  every- 
thing, and  have  done  with  it !  But  I — shall  be  free  to 
go  where  I  please! — I  can't  live  on  like  this  .  .  as 
though  weights  were  hanging  on  me.     .     I'm  completely 

275 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

pinioned.  I  can't  go  here  or  there — I  can't  do  this  or 
that.  I  want  to  live  in  freedom  .  .  that  I  may  know 
everything  myself.  .  I  will  search  out  life  for  my- 
self. .  Otherwise,  what  am  I?  A  prisoner.  Please 
take  it  all — to  the  devil  with  it  all!  Eelease  me,  I  pray 
you !  What  sort  of  a  merchant  am  I  ?  I  don't  like  any- 
thing. But  if  you  would  do  that,  I  would  go  away  from 
people,  from  everything, — I  would  find  a  place  for  my- 
self. .  I  would  take  up  some  sort  of  work — I  would, 
by  God!  Papa!  Set  me  at  liberty.  .  .  You  see,  I'm 
drinking — I'm  entangled  with  a  woman.     ." 

Mayakin  gazed  at  him,  attentively  listened  to  his 
speech,  and  his  face  was  surly,  immovable,  as  though 
turned  to  stone.  Pound  about  them  hovered  the  dull 
roar  of  the  restaurant,  several  persons  walked  past  them 
and  bowed  to  Mayakin,  but  he  saw  nothing,  as  he  scruti- 
nized the  agitated  countenance  of  his  god-son,  which  wore 
an  abstracted,  joyous,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  pitiful 
smile. 

"  E-ekh,  you  sour  blackberry ! "  he  said,  with  a  sigh, 
interrupting  Foma's  harangue. — "  You  have  gone  astray, 
I  see.  .  And  you  are  babbling  nonsense.  .  I'd  like 
to  know,  whether  this  is  the  result  of  brandy,  or  of  stu- 
pidity?" 

"  Papa !  "  exclaimed  Foma.  "  Surely,  it  can  be  done ! 
You  see,  it  has  been  done — men  have  abandoned  all  their 
possessions,  and  have  saved  themselves  thereby.     ." 

"  Not  in  my  time — nobody  whom  I  know  intimately! " 
said  Mayakin  severely.  "  If  they  had  .  .  I'd  have  shown 
them! " 

"  There  have  been  a  great  many  saints,  who  went 
away.     ." 

"Mm    .    .    they  wouldn't  have  gone  off  if  I'd  had 

276 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

anything  to  say  about  it!  .  .  The  matter  is  simple — 
do  you  know  how  to  play  draughts  ?  You  go  from  square 
to  square  until  you  get  thrown  out — and  if  you  don't  get 
thrown  out — then  you  become  a  king!  And  then  all 
paths  are  open  to  you.  Do  you  understand?  And  why 
do  I  talk  seriously  with  you  ?     Pshaw !  '^ 

"  Papa !     Why  won't  you  do  it  ?  "  cried  Foma  angrily. 

"  Listen  to  me !  If  you  are  a  chimney-sweep,  crawl  to 
the  roof!  If  you're  a  fireman, — stand  on  the  watch-tower! 
And  every  sort  of  man  ought  to  have  his  own  order  of  life. 
Calves  don't  roar  like  bears!  You  are  living  your  own  life 
— live  it!  And  don't  talk  drivel,  don't  try  to  climb  where 
you  have  no  business.  Make  your  own  life — after  its  ap- 
pointed sort." — And  from  the  old  man's  dark  mouth  poured 
forth  in  a  palpitating,  brilliant  stream,  the  quavering  but 
confident  and  daring  harangue  with  which  Foma  was  so 
familiar.  He  did  not  listen  to  it,  engrossed  as  he  was  in  the 
thought  of  freedom,  which  seemed  to  him  so  easily  possible. 
This  idea  sank  deep  into  his  brain,  and  in  his  breast  the 
desire  grew  stronger  and  stronger  to  break  off  his  connection 
with  this  turbid  and  wearisome  life,  with  god-fathers, 
steamers,  barges,  carouses, — with  everytliing  in  the  midst 
of  which  he  found  it  so  stifling  and  confining  to  live. 

The  old  man's  speech  seeme(J  to  be  wafted  to  him  from 
afar:  it  merged  itself  with  the  rattling  of  the  crockery, 
with  the  shuffling  of  the  servants'  feet  on  the  floor,  and 
with  someone's  drunken  shout.  At  a  table  not  far  from 
them  sat  four  merchants,  who  were  wrangling  loudly. 

"  Two  and  a  quarter — and — pray  to  God!  " 

"  Luka  Mitritch!    The  idea  of  such  a  thing!  " 

"  Give  him  two  and  a  half!  " 

"  Correct!  You  must  give  it — it's  a  good  steamer,  it  tows 
briskly." 

277 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

'    "  My  dear  fellows!    I  can't — ^two  and  a  quarter! " 

"  And  all  this  nonsense  has  bred  in  your  pate — from  your 
youthful  passion!"  said  Mayakin  weightily,  tapping  the 
table  with  his  hand. — "Your  audacity  is  stupidity;  all 
these  speeches  of  yours  are  stuff  and  nonsense  .  .  Hadn't 
you  better  enter  a  monastery?  Or,  perhaps,  you  prefer  to 
beg  on  the  highways? '' 

Foma  listened  in  silence.  The  uproar  which  was  seeth- 
ing around  him  seemed  to  retreat  farther  and  farther  away. 
He  imagined  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  vast,  surging  throng 
of  people  who,  for  some  unknown  reason,  were  rioting, 
jumping  on  one  another,  with  their  eyes  eagerly  staring 
wide  open,  they  were  howling,  cursing,  falling,  crushing  one 
another,  and  all  pushing  onward  to  the  same  goal.  He  felt 
ill  at  ease  among  them  because  he  did  not  understand  what 
they  wanted,  he  did  not  believe  their  words,  and  felt  that 
they  themselves  did  not  believe  themselves  or  understand 
anything.  And  if  he  were  to  tear  himself  away  from  their 
midst  to  freedom,  on  the  edge  of  life,  and  gaze  at  them  from 
that  point, — then  he  would  understand  everything.  He 
would  understand  what  they  wanted,  and  would  see  where, 
among  them,  was  his  place. 

"  For  I  understand,"  said  Mayakin  more  gently,  on  seeing 
Foma  thoughtful,  and  assuming  that  he  was  pondering  his 
words, — "  you  want  happiness  for  yourself  .  .  .  "Well, 
my  friend,  it  is  not  speedily  won  .  .  It  must  be  sought 
for,  like  mushrooms  in  the  forest,  you  must  bend  your  back 
till  it  aches  over  them,  .  .  and  when  you  have  found  them 
— look  out  that  they  are  not  toadstools." 

"  So  you  will  set  me  free?"  asked  Foma  suddenly  rais- 
ing his  head,  and  Mayakin  turned  his  eyes  away  from  his 
burning  gaze. 

"Papa!    If  only  for  a  time!    Give  me  a  chance  to  breathe 

278 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

.  .  give  me  a  chance  to  step  aside  from  everything! "  en- 
treated Foma.  "  I  will  watch  how  everything  goes  on  .  . 
and  then,  perhaps  .  .  But  if  I  go  on  like  this,  I  shall 
drink  myself  to  death." 

"Don't  talk  twaddle!  Why  do  you  play  the  fool?'' 
shouted  Mayakin  angrily. 

"Very  well  then!"  replied  Foma  quietly. — "All  right! 
You  won't  do  it?  Then — there  will  be  nothing!  I'll  get 
rid  of  everything!  And  we  have  nothing  more  to  say  to 
each  other — farewell!  I'll  set  to  work  now — you  shall  see! 
Rejoice — there'll  be  the  devil  to  pay!  " 

Foma  was  composed,  and  talked  confidently;  it  seemed 
to  him,  that  if  he  had  come  to  this  decision — ^his  god-father 
could  not  hinder  him.  But  Mayakin  drew  himself  up  stiffly 
in  his  chair,  and  said — also  simply  and  composedly: 

"  Do  you  know  how  I  can  deal  with  you?  " 

"  As  you  please!  "  said  Foma,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"  Here  then.  If  I  choose,  I  can  go  to  town  and  have  it 
arranged  that  you  shall  be  declared  crazy,  and  put  in  the 
lunatic  asylum." 

"  Is  it  possible?  "  inquired  Foma,  incredulously,  but  with 
a  touch  of  alarm  in  his  voice. 

"  Everything  is  possible  with  us,  my  dear  fellow." 

"You  don't  say  so!  " 

Foma  dropped  his  head,  and  stared  furtively  at  his  god- 
father's face,  trembling  as  he  reflected: 

"  He'll  do  it,    .    .    he'll  show  no  mercy." 

"If  you  play  the  fool  seriously,  then  I  must  also  take 
serious  measures  with  you.  I  pledged  my  word  to  your 
father  to  set  you  on  your  feet.  And  I'll  do  it  .  .  if  you 
don't  remain  standing,  I'll  hoop  you  with  iron  .  .  Then 
you  will  stand  .  .  As  if  I  didn't  know  that  all  these  words 
of  yours  are  mischievous  extravagances  bred  by  liquor    .    , 

279 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

But  if  you  don't  give  that  up, — ^if  you  continue  your  in- 
decent conduct,  and  undertake  to  ruin  the  property  your 
father  accumulated,  out  of  insolence, — ^I'll  cover  you  up 
completely,  from  the  head  down — I'll  put  a  bell-glass  over 
you.    It's  an  awkward  thing  to  jest  with  me.'' 

Mayakin  spoke  suavely.  The  wrinkles  on  his  cheeks  all 
curved  upward,  and  his  little  eyes  smiled  sneeringly,  coldly, 
from  their  little,  dark  bags.  The  furrows  on  his  brow  also 
formed  a  sort  of  strange  pattern,  as  they  rose  toward  his 
bald  spot.  His  face  was  inflexible  and  pitiless,  and  inspired 
Foma's  soul  with  cold  and  melancholy. 

"  So  there  is  no  alternative  for  me?  "  said  Foma  sullenly. 
— "  You  are  cutting  off  all  outlets  from  me?  " 

"  You  have  an  alternative — go  ahead!  But  I  will  guide 
you — don't  worry — it  will  be  safe!  You'll  find  yourself  in 
exactly  your  proper  place." 

This  self-confidence,  this  unshakable  boastfulness,  made 
Foma  explode..  Thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  in 
order  to  avoid  striking  the  old  man,  he  straightened  himself 
up  on  his  chair,  and,  with  clenched  teeth,  began,  straight 
in  his  god-father's  face: 

"Why  do  you  brag?  "What  have  you  to  brag  about? 
Your  son — where  is  he?  Your  daughter — what  is  she? 
Ekh,  you  manager  of  life!  Come  now,  you're  clever,  you 
know  everything — tell  me,  why  do  you  live?  Why  do  you 
accumulate  money?  Aren't  you  going  to  die?  Well,  what 
then?  You  have  kept  me  in  bondage,  you  have  taken  pos- 
session of  me,  subdued  me  .  .  Wait  a  bit — just  wait, 
perhaps  I  shall  break  loose!  I'm  not  done  with  you  yet! 
E-ekh,  you! — What  have  you  done  for  life?  By  what  are 
men  going  to  remember  you?  There  wa&  my  father — he 
built  a  house,  but  what  have  you  done?  " 

Mayakin's  wrinkles  quivered,  and  all  assumed  a  down- 

280 


Up  to  the  time  of  his  quarrel  with  his  god-father,  Xoiaa 
had  caroused  because  he  found  life  tiresome,  out  of  curiosity, 
and  half -indifferently, — now  he  did  it  out  of  exasperation, 
almost  in  despair,  being  filled  with  a  sentiment  of  revenge, 
and  of  a  certain  audacity  toward  people  in  general, — an 
audacity  which  at  times,  amazed  even  himself.  He  per- 
ceived that  the  people  round  about  him  were,  like  himself, 
lacking  in  a  point  of  support,  in  sense,  only  they  did  not 
understand  it,  or  deliberately  refused  to  understand  it,  in 
order  that  they  might  not  be  hindered  in  living  blindly, 
and  surrendering  themselves  completely,  without  reflection, 
to  their  dissolute  mode  of  life.  He  found  in  them  nothing 
firm,  steadfast;  when  sober,  they  appeared  to  him  unhappy 
and  stupid,  when  drunk,  they  were  repulsive  and  still  more 
stupid.  Not  one  of  them  aroused  in  him  respect,  and  pro- 
found, hearty  interest;  he  did  not  even  inquire  their  names, 
forgot  when  and  where  he  had  made  their  acquaintance,  and 
bearing  himself  always  toward  them  with  scornful  curiosity, 
always  felt  a  desire  to  say  and  to  do  something  offensive 
to  them.  He  spent  days  and  nights  with  them  in  vari- 
ous places  of  amusement,  and  his  acquaintances  always  de- 
pended directly  upon  the  rank  of  each  resort.  In  the  ex- 
pensive and  fashionable  restaurants,  he  was  surrounded  by 
sharks  of  the  better  class — sharpers,  couplet-writers,  jug- 
glers, actors,  landed  proprietors  who  had  ruined  themselves 
with  carousing.  These  people,  at  first,  bore  themselves 
toward  him  with  a  patronizing  air,  and  boasted  in  his 

283 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

presence  of  their  refined  tastes,  their  knowledge  of  the 
merits  of  wines  and  viands,  and  then  tried  to  curry  favor 
with  him,  licked  his  boots,  borrowed  money  of  him,  which 
he  flung  away  without  keeping  count  of  it,  drawing  it  from 
the  bank,  and  even  borrowing  on  promissory  notes.  In  the 
cheap  eating-houses,  hair-dressers,  and  billiard-markers 
hovered  about  him  like  vultures,  along  with  clerks,  officials, 
singers;  and  among  these  people  he  always  felt  better,  more 
at  ease.  In  them  he  saw  simple  people,  who  were  not  so 
monstrously  affected  and  distorted,  like  all  that  "  clean 
public  "  of  the  fashionable  restaurants, — ^they  were  less  de- 
praved, more  clever,  understood  him  more  simply,  occa- 
sionally revealed  strong,  healthy  sentiments,  and  they  always 
had  about  them  something  which  was  more  human.  But, 
like  the  "  clean  public,"  these  men,  also,  were  greedy,  and 
plundered  him  shamelessly;  but  he  saw  this,  and  jeered 
roughly  at  them. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  there  were  women.  Physically 
sound,  but  not  sensual,  Foma  bought  them,  both  the  dear 
and  the  cheap,  the  handsome  and  the  homely,  gave  them 
huge  amounts  of  money,  changed  them  almost  every  week, 
and,  in  general,  treated  them  better  than  he  did  the  men. 
He  laughed  at  them,  used  disgraceful  and  insulting  lan- 
guage to  them,  but  never,  even  when  half-drunk  could  he 
divest  himself  of  a  certain  embarrassment  before  them.  All 
\  of  them — the  boldest,  the  most  robust,  and  the  most  shame- 
less— seemed  to  him  weak  and  defenceless,  like  little  chil- 
dren. Always  ready  to  thrash  any  man  that  came  along, 
he  never  laid  hand  upon  a  woman,  although  he  sometimes 
cursed  them  outrageously,  when  irritated.  He  felt  him- 
self incomparably  stronger  than  any  woman,  and  every 
woman  seemed  to  him  immeasurably  more  unhappy  than 
he  was.    Those  who  led  their  depraved  lives  rakishly,  mak- 

284 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

ing  a  boast  of  their  dissoluteness,  evoked  in  Foma  a  feeling 
of  shame,  which  rendered  him  bashful  and  awkward.  One 
day,  one  of  these  women,  drunken  and  insolent,  as  she  sat 
beside  him  at  supper  slapped  his  cheek  with  a  melon-rind. 
Foma  was  half-drunk.  He  turned  pale  with  the  affront, 
rose  from  his  chair,  and,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pock- 
ets, he  said  in  a  ferocious  voice,  which  trembled  with  rage: 

"  You  carrion!  Begone  .  .  be  off  with  you!  Any 
other  man  would  have  broken  your  skull  for  that  .  .  But 
you  know  that  I  am  peaceable  with  you,  and  that  my  hand 
is  never  raised  against  one  of  your  sort  .  .  Drive  her 
away  to  the  devil!  " 

A  few  days  after  their  arrival  in  Kazan,  Sasha  became 
the  mistress  of  a  certain  vodka-distiller's  son,  who  had  been 
carousing  with  Foma.  As  she  was  departing,  with  her  new 
master,  for  some  spot  on  the  Kama,  she  said  to  Foma: 

"Farewell,  dear  man!  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  again 
.  .  we  are  both  travelling  the  same  road!  But  I  advise  you 
not  to  give  your  heart  free  play.  Carouse  away,  without 
regard  to  anything  .  .  but  if  you  mix  your  heart  up 
with  it — the  porridge  gets  spilled  and  the  bowl  is  smashed 
on  the  floor    .    .    .    Good-bye! '' 

And  she  kissed  him  warmly  on  the  lips,  whereat  her 
eyes  grew  still  darker  than  usual. 

Foma  was  delighted  that  she  was  going  away  from  him: 
he  had  got  tired  of  her,  and  her  cold  indifference  fright- 
ened him.  But  at  that  moment  something  quivered  within 
him,  he  turned  away  from  her,  and  said  softly: 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  find  things  to  your  liking  .  .  in 
that  case,  come  back  to  me." 

"  Thanks,"  she  replied,  and  for  some  reason,  broke  into 
a  hoarse  laugh  which  was  not  usual  with  her. 

Thus  did  Foma  live -on,  day  after  day,  gyrating  always  in 

285 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

one  spot,  and  among  people  who  were  always  alike,  and 
who  never  inspired  him  with  any  good  sentiments.  He 
still  regarded  himself  as  their  superior,  because  the  idea 
that  it  was  possible  to  free  himself  from  this  life  became 
more  and  more  firmly  implanted  in  his  head,  because  the 
desire  for  freedom  took  ever  firmer  possession  of  him,  be- 
cause, ever  more  clearly,  did  he  imagine  himself  as  going 
away  to  the  edge  of  life,  away  from  this  turmoil  and  laby- 
rinth. Many  a  time,  by  night,  when  he  was  all  alone  by 
himself,  he  shut  his  eyes  tight,  and  pictured  to  himself  a 
dark  throng  of  people,  incalculably  great  and  even  terrible 
in  its  vastness.  Crowded  together  somewhere  in  a  deep 
valley  which  was  surrounded  by  hillocks,  and  filled  with  a 
dusty  haze,  this  throng,  in  noisy  confusion,  jostled  each 
other  constantly  on  the  same  spot,  like  grain  in  the  hopper 
of  a  mill.  It  seemed  as  though  an  invisible  mill-stone,  con- 
cealed beneath  the  feet  of  the  throng,  were  grinding  it, 
and  the  people  were  moving  beneath  it  in  waves,  now  drawn 
downward,  in  order  to  be  the  more  quickly  ground  up 
there,  now  surging  upward,  in  the  effort  to  avoid  the  piti- 
less mill-stone.  There  were  other  people,  also,  who  re- 
sembled crabs,  just  caught  and  tossed  into  a  huge  basket, — 
clutching  hold  of  each  other,  they  moved  heavily  round  and 
round,  crawled  off  somewhere,  and  impeded  each  other,  and 
could  do  nothing  to  escape  from  captivity. 

Among  the  throng  Foma  saw  familiar  faces:  there  is  his 
father,  striving  in  some  direction,  mightily  thrusting  aside 
and  knocking  down  all  who  stand  in  his  way;  he  is  work- 
ing with  capacious  paws — pressing  his  chest  against  every- 
thing, and  laughing  in  stentorian  tones — then  he  vanishes, 
sinking  down  into  the  depths,  beneath  the  feet  of  the  peo- 
ple. Yonder,  writhing  like  an  adder,  now  leaping  upon 
the  people's  shoulders,  now  creeping  between  their  feet,  is 

286 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

his  god-father,  toiling  with  all  his  lean  hut  supple  and 
sinewy  hody  .  .  Liuboff  is  weeping  and  struggling,  as 
she  follows  her  father,  with  spasmodic  but  impotent  move- 
ments, now  getting  separated  from  him,  again  drawing  near 
to  him.  With  soft  footsteps,  and  a  kindly  smile  on  her 
countenance,  and  holding  aloof  from  everyone,  making  way 
for  everyone,  his  aunt  Anfisa  moves  slowly  onward  .  .  . 
her  image  vacillates  in  the  darkness  before  Foma,  like  the 
modest  flame  of  a  wax  taper  .  .  .  and  goes  out,  vanishes 
in  the  gloom.  Pelagaya  is  walking  swiftly,  and  by  a  straight 
path  to  some  goal  or  other  .  .  Yonder  is  Sofya  Pavlovna 
Medynsky  standing,  helpless,  with  hands  hanging  by  her 
side,  as  she  stood  on  that  last  occasion — in  her  own  draw- 
ing-room .  .  Her  eyes  are  large,  and  a  great  terror  gleams 
in  them.  There  is  Sasha,  also.  Indifferent,  paying  no 
heed  to  the  jostling,  she  walks  on  firmly  straight  into  the 
thickest  dregs  of  life,  singing  her  songs  at  the  top  of  her 
voice,  gazing  calmly  before  her  with  her  dark  eyes.  Foma 
hears  the  uproar,  the  yells,  the  laughter,  the  drunken  shouts, 
the  angry  quarrelling  over  kopeks;  songs  and  wailing  float 
over  this  huge,  troubled  heap  of  living  human  bodies,  con- 
fined in  that  pit;  they  leap  and  fall,  and  climb,  crush  one  an- 
other, leap  upon  one  another's  shoulders,  bustle  in  every 
direction,  like  blind  people,  everywhere  come  into  collision 
with  others  like  themselves,  struggle  and,  falling,  disap- 
pear from  sight.  The  money  rustles,  as  it  hovers,  like 
bats,  over  the  heads  of  these  people,  and  the  people  eagerly 
stretch  out  their  hands  toward  it,  the  gold  and  silver  jin- 
gles, bottles  clash,  corks  pop,  someone  sobs,  and  a  mourn- 
ful female  voice  sings: 

"  Thus  will  we  live,  while  we  ca-an, 
But  there — not  even  the  grass  shall  grow  I  '* 

,  287 

/ 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

This  senseless  picture  rivetted  itself  in  Foma's  brain, 
and  with  every  recurrence  it  rose  up  more  and  more  clearly, 
more  and  more  huge  and  vivid,  arousing  in  his  breast  some- 
thing chaotic,  a  vast,  undefined  feehng,  into  which  had 
poured,  like  brooks  into  a  river,  terror,  and  agitation,  and 
pity,  and  anger  and  much  more  besides.  All  this  seethed 
in  his  breast  to  strained  desire, — to  the  point  of  bursting, — 
to  a  desire  whose  force  made  him  sigh,  and  made  the  tears 
well  up  in  his  eyes,  and  he  wanted  to  cry  aloud,  to  howl  like 
a  wild  beast,  to  frighten  everyone — to  put  a  stop  to  their 
senseless  turmoil,  to  inject  into  the  clamor  and  vanity  of 
their  life  something  new,  something  of  his  own,  to  speak 
to  them  loud,  firm  words,  to  turn  them  all  in  one  direction, 
and  not  against  each  other.  He  wanted  to  grasp  them  in  his 
hands  by  their  heads,  to  tear  them  apart,  one  from  another, 
to  administer  a  sound  beating  to  some,  to  fondle  others,  to 
reproach  all,  to  illuminate  them  with  some  fire  or 
other    .    .    . 

There  was  nothing  in  him — neither  the  necessary  words, 
nor  the  fire — there  was  nothing  but  the  longing,  compre- 
hensible to  him,  but  impossible  of  execution  .  .  He  imag- 
ined himself  high  above  life,  outside  of  that  deep  valley 
wherein  these  people  were  seething;  he  beheld  himself  stand- 
ing firmly  on  his  feet  and — dumb.  He  might  have  shouted 
to  the  people: 

"  How  are  you  living?    Are  not  you  ashamed?  " 

And  he  might  have  reviled  them.  But  if,  at  the  sound 
of  his  voice,  they  were  to  inquire: 

"  But  how  ought  we  to  live?  *' 

He  understood  perfectly  well,  that  after  that  question 
he  would  be  forced  to  fly  down  headlong  from  the  heights, 
down  there,  beneath  the  feet  of  the  people,  upon  the  mill- 
stone.    And  they  would  have  accompanied  his  ruin  with 

laughter. 

288 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

He  sometimes  grew  delirious  under  the  oppression  of  this 
nightmare.  Words  without  coherence  or  meaning  burst 
from  his  lips;  he  even  perspired  with  this  painful  turmoil 
within  him.  At  times,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  going 
crazy  from  intoxication,  and  that  was  why  all  this  dreadful 
and  morose  stuff  was  making  its  way  into  his  brain.  With 
a  great  effort  of  will  he  banished  these  pictures  and  im- 
pulses from  him,  but  no  sooner  did  he  find  himself  alone, 
and  not  very  drunk, — than  again  he  was  filled  with  this 
delirium,  and  again  he  succumbed  beneath  the  burden  of 
it.  And  the  longing  for  freedom  ever  grew  and  strength- 
ened in  him,  torturing  him  by  its  force.  But  wrench  him- 
self free  from  the  fetters  of  his  wealth  he  could  not.  Mayi- 
kin,  who  held  from  him  a  full  power  of  attorney  to 
administer  his  business,  now  acted  so  that,  almost  every  day, 
Foma  was  compelled  to  feel  the  weight  of  the  responsibilities 
which  rested  upon  him.  People  were  constantly  applying  to 
him  for  payments,  proposing  to  him  arrangements  for  trans- 
porting freight,  the  employees  appealed  to  him  in  person 
and  by  letter  about  trifles  with  which  he  had  not  hitherto 
concerned  himself,  but  which  they  had  attended  to  at  their 
own  risk.  They  hunted  him  up  in  eating-houses,  and  asked 
him  what  must  be  done,  and  how  it  must  be  done;  he  told 
them,  sometimes  without  himself  understanding  in  the 
least  whether  the  thing  should  be  done  in  one  way  or  an- 
other, he  noticed  their  concealed  contempt  for  him,  and 
almost  always  saw  that  they  did  the  business  not  as  he  had 
ordered,  but  in  a  different  and  better  way.  In  all  this  he 
detected  the  clever  hand  of  his  god-father,  and  he  compre- 
hended that  the  old  man  was  harrying  him  in  order  to 
incline  him  to  his  own  views.  But,  at  the  same  time,  he 
remarked  that  he  was  not  the  master  in  his  own  business, 
but  only  a  component  part  of  it,  and  not  an  important  part 

280 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

at  that.  This  irritated  him,  and  still  further  repelled  him 
from  the  old  man,  still  more  powerfully  excited  his  yearn- 
ing to  break  away  from  business,  even  at  the  cost  of  his 
own  destruction.  Goaded  to  fury,  he  flung  money  about  in 
the  restaurants  and  dives,  but  this  did  not  last  long — Yakoff 
Tarasovitch  closed  up  his  current  accounts  in  the  banks, 
and  removed  all  deposits.  Foma  soon  felt  that  people  were 
not  as  willing  to  lend  him  money  on  his  note  of  hand  as 
they  had  been  at  first.  This  stung  his  self-love,  and  thor- 
oughly perturbed  and  frightened  him,  when  he  learned  that 
his  god-father  had  set  afloat  in  business  circles  the  rumor 
that  he,  Foma,  was  not  in  his  right  mind,  and  that,  pos- 
sibly, it  might  become  necessary  to  appoint  a  guardian  for 
him.  Foma  did  not  know  the  limits  of  his  god-father's 
power,  and  could  not  bring  himself  to  take  counsel  with 
anyone  on  the  subject:  he  was  convinced  that  the  old  man 
was  a  power  in  the  business  world,  and  could  do  anything 
he  pleased.  At  first  he  found  it  painful  to  feel  Mayakin's 
hand  over  him,  but  afterwards  he  became  reconciled  to  this, 
dismissed  the  whole  matter,  and  resumed  his  dissolute, 
drunken  life,  in  which  one  thing  alone  consoled  him — peo- 
ple. With  every  day  he  became  more  firmly  convinced  that 
they  were  senseless,  and  in  every  way  worse  than  himself, 
that  they  were  not  the  lords  of  life,  but  its  lackeys,  and 
that  it  was  twisting  them  about  at  its  pleasure,  driving  them 
and  ruining  them  at  its  will,  while  they,  apathetically  and 
resignedly  yielded  to  it,  and  not  one  of  them  desired  freedom 
for  himself.  But  he  did  not  want  it,  and  therefore  he 
haughtily  elevated  himself  above  his  boon  companions,  not 
desiring  to  discern  in  them  anything  but  evil. 

One  day,  in  a  restaurant,  a  half-intoxicated  man  com- 
plained to  him  about  his  life.  He  was  a  lean  little  man, 
with  dull,  frightened  eyes,  unshaven,  and  with  a  short  f rock- 

290 


Foma  Gordydeff 

coat,  and  a  brilliant  necktie.  He  blinked  mournfully,  his 
ears  waggled  timorously,  and  his  soft  little  voice  also 
trembled. 

"  I  have  used  every  means  to  become  one  of  the  success- 
ful people.  I  have  tried  everything.  I  have  toiled  like  an 
ox.  But  life  has  jostled  me,  devoured  me,  given  me  no 
chance  .  .  My  patience  is  exhausted  .  .  Ekh!  And 
so,  I  have  taken  to  drink.  I  feel  that  I  am  going  to  de- 
struction.   Well,  that  road  is  open  to  me! " 

"  Fool!  "  said  Foma  contemptuously.  "  Why  did  you 
care  to  make  your  way,  to  be  among  the  successful  people? 
You  ought  to  have  kept  to  the  right,  away  from  them.  You 
might  have  stood  aside,  looked  to  see  where  your  place  was 
among  them,  and  then — advanced  straight  to  your  point!  '^ 

"I  don't  understand  your  words!"  and  the  man  shook 
his  closely-cropped,  angular  head. 

Foma  laughed  conceitedly. 

"  How  could  you  be  expected  to  understand  that?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  what  I  think  about  it  is  this,  that  he 
whom  God  appoints    .    ." 

"  Life  is  not  arranged  by  God,  but  by  people ! "  broke  "v* 
out  Foma,  and  he  even  surprised  himself  by  the  audacity 
of  his  words.    And  the  little  man,  casting  a  furtive  gknce 
at  him,  also  shrank  back  timidly. 

"  God  gave  you  understanding?  "  asked  Foma,  recover- 
ing from  his  confusion. 

"  Certainly  .  .  that  is  to  say,  as  much  as  befits  a  small 
man    .    ."  said  Foma's  interlocutor  undecidedly. 

"Well — don't  you  dare  to  ask  of  Him  a  single  grain 
more!  Construct  your  own  Hfe  by  your  own  reason  .  ? 
and  God  will  judge  you  .  .  .  We  are  all  in  His  service, 
and  we  are  all  of  equal  value  in  His  sight  .  .  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

291 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

It  very  often  happened  that  Foma  said  something  which 
seemed  audacious  even  to  himself,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
elevated  him  in  his  own  eyes.  They  were  bold,  unexpected 
ideas  and  words,  which  suddenly  made  their  appearance  like 
sparks — an  impression  carved  them,  as  it  were  out  of 
Foma's  brain.  And  he  more  than  once  observed,  with  re- 
gard to  himself,  that  he  expressed  what  he  had  thought  out 
worse,  more  obscurely,  than  what  flashed  up,  impulsively 
from  his  heart. 

Foma  lived  as  though  he  were  walking  in  a  swamp,  in 
danger,  every  moment,  of  sticking  fast  in  the  mud  and 
slime,  but  his  god-father,  like  a  bindweed,  meandered  about 
on  one  dry,  firm  little  spot,  maintaining  a  keen  watch,  from 
afar,  on  his  god-son's  life. 

After  the  quarrel  with  Foma,  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  re- 
turned home  sullenly  thoughtful.  His  little  eyes  gleamed 
unfeelingly,  and  his  whole  person  was  straightened  up,  like 
a  tightly  stretched  cord.  His  wrinkles  writhed  painfully, 
his  face  seemed  to  have  grown  smaller  and  darker  of  hue, 
and  when  Liuboff  saw  him  in  this  state,  she  thought  he  was 
seriously  ill,  but  was  holding  himself  under  control,  exercis- 
ing force  upon  himself.  The  taciturn  old  man  flung  him- 
self about  the  room,  hurling  at  his  daughter,  in  reply  to  her 
questions,  dry,  curt  remarks,  and,  at  last,  shouted  at  her, 
point-blank: 
■'  "  Let  me  alone!    You  see — it  doesn't  concern  you    .    ." 

She  felt  sorry  for  him,  when  she  perceived  the  grieved 
and  mournful  expression  of  his  keen,  green  eyes;  she  con- 
sidered it  her  duty  to  question  him  as  to  what  ailed  him,  and 
when  he  seated  himself  at  the  dinner-table,  she  went  up  to 
him  impulsively,  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  gazed  into 
his  face,  and  asked  anxiously: 

*'  Papa!  you  are  not  feeling  well — tell  me! '' 

292 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

Her  caresses  were  extremely  rare;  they  always  softened 
the  lonely  old  man,  and  although  he  did  not  respond  to  them 
for  some  reason  or  other,  yet  he  could  not  fail  to  prize  them, 
all  the  same.  And  now,  twitching  his  shoulders,  and  fling- 
ing off  her  hands,  he  said  to  her: 

"  Go  away,  go  to  your  place  .  .  The  itching  curiosity 
of  Eve  will  be  your  undoing." 

But  Liuboff  did  not  go  away;  gazing  persistently  into 
his  eyes,  she  asked,  in  an  offended  tone: 

"  Why  do  you  always  talk  like  that  to  me,  papa  .  .  . 
as  though  I  were  a  child,  or  very  stupid?  " 

"  Because  you  are  grown  up  but  are  not  very  clever  .  .  . 
There  now!  There's  the  whole  matter  in  a  nutshell!  Go 
away,  sit  down,  and  eat    .    ." 

She  went  away,  and  silently  seated  herself  opposite  her 
father,  with  her  lips  pursed  up  from  the  affront.  May  akin 
ate  slowly,  contrary  to  his  wont,  stirring  his  spoon  around 
in  his  plate  of  cabbage-soup  for  a  long  time,  and  staring 
intently  at  the  soup. 

"  If  your  littered-up  mind  could  only  understand  your 
father's  thoughts! "  he  said  suddenly,  sighing  with  a  sort 
of  whistling  sound. 

Liuboff  cast  her  spoon  aside,  and  asked,  almost  with  tears 
in  her  voice: 

"  Why  do  you  insult  me,  papa?  You  see  that — I  am 
alone!  always  alone!  You  must  comprehend  how  dilBficult 
life  is  for  me — and  you  never  utter  a  kind  word  to  me.  You 
never  say  anything  at  all!  But  you  are  lonely  also — and 
things  are  hard  for  you  .  .  I  see  that.  You  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  live  .  .  but, — you  yourself  are  to  blame  for  that!! 
You  yourself    .    .    ." 

"  Here's  Balaam's  ass  taken  to  talking!  "  said  the  old  man 
with  a  sneer.    "  We-ell?    What  comes  next?  " 

293 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

''  You  are  very  proud,  papa,  of  your  brains    .    .   .*' 

*' What  else?" 

"  That  is  not  well  .  .  and  it  gives  me  great  pain  .  . 
why  do  you  repulse  me?  You  know  that  I  have  no  one  but 
you    .    .    ." 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes;  her  father  noticed  them,  and 
his  face  quivered. 

"If  you  weren't  a  girl!  " — he  exclaimed. — "If  you  only 
had  some  brains, — ^like  Marfa  the  Burgomistress,^  for  ex- 
ample. .  .  .  E-kh,  Liuboff !  Then  I'd  .  .  .  I  wouldn't 
care  a  fig  for  anybody — nor  for  Fomka  .  .  .  Come  now, 
don't  roar! " 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  and  asked: 

"  What  is  it  about  Fomka?  " 

"He's  rebellious  .  .  Ha-ha!  He  says:  'Take  all  my 
property  from  me,  set  me  at  liberty  .  .'  He  wants  to  save 
his  soul — in  pot-houses.  That's  what  he  has  taken  into  his 
head — our  Foma." 

"What  does  it  mean?"  asked  Liuboff  hesitatingly.  She 
wanted  to  say  that  Foma's  desire  was  good,  that  it  was  a 
noble  desire,  if  it  were  serious,  but  she  was  afraid  of  irritat- 
ing her  father  by  her  remarks,  and  so  she  only  looked  in- 
quiringly at  him. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  began  Mayakin  hotly,  tremu- 
lously— "  It's  either  the  result  of  his  drinking  to  excess, 
or  else — which  God  forbid, — ^he  gets  it  from  his  mother  .  . 
the  Old  Ritualist  element.  .  .  .  And  if  that  fantastic 
leaven  be^ns  to  ferment  in  him,  I  shall  have  a  lot  of  fighting 
to  do  with  him!  I  shall  have  great  trouble  with  him.  He 
forcibly  opposed  me  .  .  displayed  great  insolence,  all  of  a 
sudden    .    .    .    He's  young    .    .    there's  not  much  crafti- 

*The  famous  defender  of  NoTgorod,  widow  of  Boretzky,  Burgo- 
master; end  of  the  fifteenth  century. — Translator, 

294 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ness  about  him  yet  .  .  .  He  says:  '  I'll  drink  up  every- 
thing. I'll  squander  everything  .  .'  .  .  Til  see  you 
drink  it  up! " 

Mayakin  raised  his  hand  above  his  head,  and  clenching 
his  fist,  gesticulated  angrily  with  it. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  Who  established  the  business,  who  got 
it  into  shape?  You?  Your  father  .  .  he  put  forty  years 
of  toil  into  it,  but  you  want  to  destroy  it?  .  .  We  are  all 
bound  to  go  to  our  own  places,  here  together,  lined  up  like 
a  wall,  there  cautiously,  one  after  the  other,  in  goose-file 
.  .  .  We  merchants,  we  trading  people,  have  carried  Eus- 
sia  on  our  shoulders  for  centuries,  and  are  still  carrying  her 
.  .  .  Peter  the  Great  was  a  Tzar  of  divine  wisdom  .  . 
he  knew  our  value.  How  did  he  uphold  us?  He  had  Little 
books  printed,  expressly  to  teach  us  business  .  .  I  have 
a  book,  printed  at  his  command,  by  Polidor  Virgilii  Urbin- 
sky,  about  inventions,  printed  in  the  year  1720  .  .  yes! 
One  must  understand  it  ...  He  did  understand  .  . 
and  opened  the  way  for  us  .  .  But  now  we  stand  on  our 
own  feet  .  .  .  and  we  know  our  place,  instinctively. 
Open  the  way  to  us!  We  have  laid  the  foundations  of  life 
— we  have  laid  ourselves  in  the  earth  instead  of  bricks  .  .  . 
now  we  must  build  the  stories — grant  us  freedom  of  action! 
That's  the  direction  in  which  such  as  we  must  hold  our 
course  .  .  That's  where  the  problem  lies  .  .  but 
Fomka  does  not  understand  this.  He  must  understand — 
and  continue  the  work.  He  has  his  father's  means. — I  shall 
die — mine  will  be  joined  to  his:  work,  you  puppy!  But 
he  talks  wildly.  No,  wait!  I'll  lead  you  to  the  proper 
point! " 

The  old  man  panting  with  agitation,  and  with  flashing 
eyes,  stared  as  angrily  at  his  daughter  as  though  Foma  were 
sitting  in  her  seat.    His  agitation  frightened  Liuboff,  but 

295 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

she  had  not  sufficient  courage  to  stop  her  father,  and  she 
gaaed  in  silence  at  his  surly,  gloomy  visage. 

"  The  road  has  heen  laid  out  by  our  fathers — and  you 
must  walk  in  it.  Fifty  years  have  I  toiled — for  what?  That 
after  I  am  gone  my  business  shall  come  to  an  end  .  .  . 
my  children    .    .    .    My  children!    What  children  have  I?" 

The  old  man  dropped  his  head  sadly,  his  voice  broke, 
and  dully,  as  though  he  were  speaking  somewhere  inside 
him,  he  said: 

"  One — is  a  convict  .  .  .  ruined  .  .  the  other — is 
a  drunkard,  and  there's  but  little  hope  of  him  .  .  .  My 
daughter  ...  To  whom  shall  I  hand  over  my  labor  be- 
fore I  die?  I  ought  to  have  a  son-in-law  .  .  When 
Fomka  has  got  through  fermenting,  and  is  sharpened  up, — 
.  .  I'll  give  you  to  him,  and  with  you  all  I  have — that  I 
will!  But  Fomka  isn't  fit  yet  .  .  .  And  I  see  no  other 
in  his  stead  .  .  How  men  have  degenerated!  In  former 
times,  the  people  were  of  iron,  but  now  they  are  of — india- 
rubber!  They  all  bend  .  .  .  and  they  have  nothing,  they 
have  no  stability    .    .    What  does  it  mean?    Why  is  it  so?  " 

Mayakin  gazed  anxiously  at  his  daughter.  She  remained 
silent. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  asked  her,  "  what  it  is  you  want?  How, 
in  your  opinion,  ought  one  to  live?  What  do  you  wish? 
You  have  been  educated,  you  have  read — what  do  you 
need?" 

These  questions  showered  down  upon  Liuboff's  head  quite 
unexpectedly  to  her,  and  she  became  confused.  She  was 
pleased  that  her  father  had  asked  her  about  the  matter, 
but  she  was  afraid  to  answer  him,  lest  she  should  lower  her 
prestige  in  his  eyes.  And  so,  collecting  all  her  forces  in  a 
way,  as  though  she  were  preparing  to  spring  across  the 
table,  she  said  hesitatingly,  and  with  a  quiver  in  her  voice: 

296 


o 


Fom^  Gordy^eff 


"  That  everyone  should  be  happy — and  contented  .  • 
that  all  men  should  be  equal  .  .  .  and  that  all  should 
have  an  equal  right  to  life  .  .  to  the  good  things  of  life 
.  .  all  men  need  freedom — as  much  as  they  do  air  .  . 
and  in  everything — equality!  " 

At  the  beginning  of  her  agitated  speech,  her  father  gazed 
into  her  face  with  an  anxious  curiosity  in  his  eyes,  but  in 
proportion  as  she  hastily  cast  her  words  at  him  the  expres- 
sion of  his  eyes  kept  changing,  and  at  last,  he  said  to  her 
with  calm  contempt: 

"  I  knew  it:  you're  a  gilded  fool!  " 

She  dropped  her  head,  but  immediately  raised  it  again, 
and  exclaimed  sadly: 

"  You  say  the  same  thing  yourself:  freedom    .    /' 

"Hold  your  tongue,  won't  you!"  roared  the  old  man 
roughly  at  her. — "  You  don't  even  perceive  that  which 
forces  itself  to  the  outside  plainly  in  every  man  .  .  . 
How  can  all  men  be  happy  and  equal,  if  each  one  wishes  to 
be  above  the  other?  Even  a  beggar  has  a  pride  of  his  own, 
and  always  brags  to  others  about  something  .  .  .  Even 
the  little  child  wants  to  be  first  among  his  playmates  .  . 
And  no  man  ever  gives  way  before  another  man — only  fools 
dream  of  such  a  thing  .  .  Everyone  has  his  own  soul  .  . 
and  his  own  face  .  .  only  those  who  do  not  love  their 
souls  and  do  not  care  for  their  faces  can  be  planed  down 
to  one  size.  Ekh,  you  fool!  You've  read  a  lot  and  gobbled 
down  a  heap  of  trash    .    ." 

Bitter  reproach  and  biting  scorn  were  expressed  on  the 
old  man's  face.  Pushing  his  chair  back  noisily  from  the 
table,  he  sprang  out  of  it,  and,  crossing  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  he  began  to  run  about  the  room  with  mincing  steps, 
shaking  his  head  and  muttering  something  to  himself  in  a 
vicious,  hissing  whisper.    Liuboff,  pale  with  emotion  and 

_297 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

anger,  feeling  herself  stupid  and  helpless  before  him,  lis- 
tened to  his  whisper,  and  her  heart  beat  anxiously. 

"  I  am  left  alone  .  .  alone  .  .  Like  Job  .  .  0, 
Lord!— What  shall  I  do?— A-lone!  Ain't  I  clever?  But 
life  has  outwitted  me  .  .  What  does  it  love?  Whom 
does  it  caress?  It  beats  the  good,  and  doesn't  let  the  bad 
escape    .    .    .    And  no  one  can  understand  its  justice." 

The  girl  was  grieved,  to  pain,  for  the  old  man;  she  was 
seized  with  a  terrible  longing  to  help  him;  she  wanted  to 
be  of  use  to  him. 

As  she  watched  him  with  burning  eyes,  she  suddenly  said 
softly  to  him: 

"Papa  .  .  dear  papa!  Do  not  grieve  .  .  surely, 
Taras  is  still  alive    .    .    perhaps  he    .    ." 

Mayakin  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  as  though  rooted  to  the 
spot,  and  slowly  raised  his  head. 

"  The  wood  was  bent  in  youth,  it  couldn't  stand  the 
strain,  and  it's  all  the  more  likely  to  break  in  its  old  age  .  . 
Well,  nevertheless  .  .  Taras  is  a  blade  of  straw  com- 
pared to  me,  even  now  .  .  It's  hardly  likely  that  he's 
any  better  than  Foma  .  .  Gordyeeff  has  some  character 
.  .  he  has  his  father's  audacity  .  .  He  can  take  a  good 
deal  on  his  shoulders  .  .  But  Taraska  .  .  you  recalled 
him  in  the  nick  of  time    .    .    so  there!  " 

And  the  old  man  who,  a  moment  before  had  been  de- 
pressed in  spirit  to  the  point  of  complaining,  who  had  been 
darting  about  the  room,  in  his  grief,  like  a  mouse  in  a  mouse- 
trap, now  walked  firmly  and  composedly,  with  a  careworn 
countenance,  to  the  table  again,  carefully  placed  his  chair 
before  it,  and  sat  down,  saying: 

"  We  must  feel  Taraska  .  .  he  is  living  in  Usolye,  at 
some  factory  .  .  I  heard  of  it  from  some  merchants — 
he's  working  in  soda  there,  I  believe  .  .  I'll  find  out 
exactly.    I'll  write    .    ." 

298 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Let  me  write  to  him,  papa?"  entreated  Liuboff  softly, 
trembling  with  joy,  and  flushing  crimson. 

"  You  ?  "  asked  Mayakin,  darting  a  hasty  glance  at  her, 
then  he  became  silent,  reflected,  and  said: 

"  You  may!  It  is  even  better  so  .  .  Ask  him  if  he 
is  married.  Ask  him  how  he  is  living? — Yes,  and  by  the 
way,  1^11  tell  you  when  the  time  has  come  to  write." 

"  You'd  better  be  quick  about  it,  papa!  "  said  the  girl. 

"  I'd  better  be  quick  about  marrying  you  off  .  .  I've 
been  casting  my  eyes  on  a  red-haired  fellow — the  young 
man  appears  not  to  be  stupid  .  .  He  has  been  polished 
up  abroad,  among  other  things." 

"Is  it  Smolin,  papa?"  asked  Liuboff,  with  anxiety  and 
curiosity. 

"  And  if  it  is  he — what  then?  "  inquired  Yakoff  Taraso- 
vitch  in  a  business-like  way. 

"Nothing  .  .  I  don't  know  him,"  replied  Liuboff 
hesitatingly. 

"  We'll  introduce  you  .  .  'tis  time,  Liuboff, 'tis  time! 
Our  hopes  of  Foma  are  poor — although  I  don't  give  him  up 
either." 

"  I  do  not  reckon  upon  Foma.    What  is  he  to  me  ?  " 

"  There's  no  use  in  your  saying  that.  If  you  had  had 
more  sense,  perhaps  he  wouldn't  have  gone  astray!  .  . 
When  I  saw  you  together,  I  used  to  think:  My  lass  is 
winning  a  young  fellow  for  h&rself !  'Twill  be  a  strong  af- 
fair! On  the  contrary,  .  .  I  didn't  foresee  right  .  .  I 
thought  you  would  know  what  was  to  your  own  advantage, 
without  any  orders  from  me.  So  I  did,  my  lass!  "  said  her 
father,  in  a  didactic  voice. 

She  meditated,  as  she  listened  to  his  suggestive  speech. 
She  was  strong  and  healthy,  and  the  idea  of  marriage  had 
entered  her  mind  more  and  more  frequently  of  late,  for  she 

200 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

could  see  no  other  way  of  escape  from  her  loneliness.  The 
longing  to  abandon  her  father  and  go  away  somewhere  or 
other,  to  study  something,  work  at  something, — she  had 
long  since  lived  down,  just  as  she  had  lived  down,  alone  by 
herself,  many  other  longings,  as  acute  but  profound  and  ill- 
defined.  The  various  books  which  she  had  read, had  left 
behind  them  in  her  a  muddy  sediment,  but,  although  this 
had  life  about  it,  it  was,  nevertheless,  the  life  of  protoplasm. 
From  this  sediment  within  the  girl  there  had  been  de- 
veloped a  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  with  her  life,  a  yearning 
for  personal  independence,  a  desire  to  liberate  herself  from 
her  father's  burdensome  tutelage, — but  she  had  not  the 
strength  to  put  these  desires  into  execution,  nor  a  clear 
conception  of  how  they  were  to  be  realized.  But  nature 
made  its  own  suggestions,  and  more  than  once  already,  at 
the  sight  of  young  mothers  with  their  children  in  their 
arms,  the  girl  had  felt  within  her  a  sad  and  offended 
languor.  At  times,  as  she  halted  before  her  mirror,  she 
gazed  with  mournfulness  at  her  plump,  fresh  face  with  dark 
circles  round  the  eyes  reflected  in  it,  and  she  felt  sorry  for 
herself:  she  was  conscious  that  life  was  avoiding  her,  for- 
getting her  somewhere  on  one  side.  Now,  as  she  listened 
to  her  father's  remarks,  she  pictured  to  herself  what  sort  of  a 
fellow  this  Smolin  might  be  ?  She  had  met  him  while  he  was 
still  a  student  in  the  gymnasium;  he  had  then  been  covered 
with  freckles,  snub-nosed,  always  neat,  stately  and  tiresome. 
He  danced  heavily  and  awkwardly,  and  talked  uninterest- 
ingly .  .  A  long  time  had  elapsed  since  then:  he  had 
been  abroad,  had  studied  something  there, — what  was  he 
like  now?  From  Smolin  her  thoughts  leaped  to  her  brother, 
and  with  a  sinking  heart  she  thought:  What  answer  would 
he  make  to  her  letter?  What  was  he  like?  The  image  of 
her  brother,  as  she  pictured  him  to  herself,  shut  off  from 

300 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

her  both  her  father  and  Smolin,  and  she  was  already  say- 
ing to  herself  that,  until  she  had  met  Taras,  on  no  terms 
whatever  would  she  consent  to  marry,  when  her  father  sud- 
denly shouted  at  her: 

"  Hey,  Liubava!  Why  are  you  thoughtful?  What  about, 
chiefly?" 

"  Nothing  .  .  everything  passes  away  so  swiftly,"  re- 
plied Liuboff  with  a  smile. 

"  What  passes  swiftly?  " 

"  Why,  everything  ...  a  week  ago,  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  speak  to  you  about  Taras,  but  now    .    ." 

"  ^Tis  necessity,  my  lass!  Necessity  is  a  power,  it  bends 
a  steel  rod  into  a  spring, — but  the  steel  of  stubbornness 
.  .  .  Taras — we'll  have  an  eye  on  him!  A  man  is  of 
value  in  proportion  to  his  resistance  to  the  power  of  life  .  . 
if  it  doesn't  wrest  him,  he  wrests  it  to  his  own  pattern, — 
my  respects  to  him!  Permit  me  to  shake  your  hand  and 
let's  travel  together  on  business!  .  .  Ekh,  I'm  old  .  . 
But  how  brisk  life  has  become  now!  It  increases  in  interest 
with  every  year  .  .  there's  more  and  more  savor  to  it! 
I'd  like  to  go  on  living  forever,  I'd  like  to  go  on  acting 
forever!  " 

The  old  man  smacked  his  lips  with  gusto,  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  his  little  eyes  gleamed  with  greed. 

"  But  there  you  are — thin-blooded  little  folks!  You 
haven't  grown  up  yet,  but  you  are  already  overgrown  and 
live  on  wizened,  like  an  old  radish  .  .  But  the  idea  that 
life  is  becoming  more  and  more  beautiful  all  the  time,  is 
inaccessible  to  you.  I  have  lived  sixty-seven  years  on  this 
earth,  and  am  already  standing  on  the  brink  of  the  grave, 
but  I  see:  in  the  olden  time,  when  I  was  young,  there  were 
fewer  flowers  on  earth,  and  the  flowers  were  less  beautiful. 
Everything  is  adorning  itself!    What  buildings  have  come 

301 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

into  vogue!  Divers  implements,  of  trade  .  .  Steamers! 
A  lot  of  brains  has  been  put  into  it  all!  you  look — you 
think:  *  Hey  there,  you  people,  you  are  smart!  like  a  lump 
of  buckwheat  porridge  in  the  mouth!  They've  seized  hold 
of  life  cleverly '  .  .  Everything  is  good,  everything  is 
agreeable  .  .  .  only  you,  our  heirs, — are  destitute  of 
every  live  feeling!  Any  little  charlatan  from  among  the 
petty  burghers  is  smarter  than  you  .  .  .  There's  that 
.  .  Ezhoff — what's  he?  But  he  represents  judgment  upon 
us  .  .  and  even  upon  all  life  .  .  he's  gifted  with  bold- 
ness. But  you — pshaw!  You  live  like  beggars  .  .  in 
merriment  you  are  beasts,  in  unhappiness — an  abomination! 
Rotten  people — you  ought  to  have  fire  injected  into  your 
veins — you  ought  to  have  your  skins  flayed  off  you,  and 
salt  sprinkled  on  the  raw  flesh — then  you'd  jump,  I  think!  " 
Yakoff  Tarasovitch,  small,  wrinkled,  and  bony,  with 
black  stumps  of  teeth  in  his  mouth,  bald  and  swarthy,  as 
though  tanned  with  the  heat  of  life  and  smoked  in  it,  trem- 
bled all  over  in  vehement  agitation,  showering  jarring,  con- 
temptuous remarks  on  his  daughter — who  was  young,  well- 
grown,  and  plump.  She  gazed  at  him  with  guilty  eyes, 
smiling  in  perturbation,  and  in  her  heart  her  respect  for  the 
lively  old  man,  so  persistent  in  his  desires,  kept  growing  and 
growing. 

But  Foma  continued  to  rove  about  and  talk  wildly,  spend- 
ing his  days  and  nights  in  eating-houses  and  dives,  and 
adopting  more  and  more  deeply  a  contemptuously-inimical 
demeanor  toward  the  people  who  surrounded  him.  At 
times,  they  evoked  in  him  a  melancholy  yearning  to  dis- 
cover among  them  some  support  for  his  malignant  feeling, 
to  meet  a  man  both  worthy  and  daring,  who  would  put  him 
to  shame  by  his  burning  words  of  reproof.    With  every  re- 

302 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

currence,  this  yearning  sprang  up  in  him  more  and  more 
clearly, — it  was  a  desire  for  help  on  the  part  of  a  man  who 
felt  that  he  had  gone  astray  and  was  going  to  destruction. 

"  Brethren! "  he  exclaimed  once,  as  he  sat  at  table  in  an 
eating-house,  half-intoxicated,  and  surrounded  by  some 
shady  and  greedy  people  or  other,  who  ate  and  drank  as 
much  as  though  they  had  not  had  a  bite  in  their  mouths  for 
many  a  long  day  previously. — "  Brethren!  I'm  disgusted 
with  you, — I'm  tired  of  you!  Thrash  me — turn  me  out! 
You  are  scoundrels,  but  you  are  more  attached  to  one  an- 
other than  you  are  to  me  .  .  .  Why?  Surely,  I  am  also 
a  drunkard  and  a  scoundrel  .  .  but  an  outsider  for  you! 
I  see  that  I  am  an  outsider.  You  drink  at  my  expense,  and 
you  privately  don't  care  a  fig  for  me — I  feel  it!    Why?  " 

As  a  matter  of  course,  they  could  not  treat  him  otherwise: 
not  one  of  them,  probably,  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  regard- 
ed himself  as  lower  than  he,  but  he  was  rich, — that  was 
what  prevented  their  treating  him  more  as  a  comrade,  and 
he  was  always  saying  sneeringly-wrathful  things, — and  that 
embarrassed  them.  Moreover,  he  was  strong  and  quick  to 
use  his  fists, — they  did  not  dare  to  say  a  word  in  contradic- 
tion of  him.  But  that  was  precisely  what  he  wanted,  he 
more  and  more  violently  longed  to  have  some  one  of  them, 
whom  he  despised,  stand  up  against  him,  face  to  face,  and 
say  something  strong  to  him,  that,  like  a  lever,  would  turn 
him  away  from  this  down-hill  road,  of  whose  danger  he  was 
conscious — whose  mire  he  saw,  and  was  filled  with  impotent 
loathing  for  it. 

And  Foma  found  what  he  needed. 

One  day,  exasperated  by  lack  of  attention  to  him,  he 
shouted  at  his  boon-companions: 

"  You  bugs!  Shut  up,  every  one  of  you!  Who  is  it  that 
provides  you  with  drink  and  food?    Have  you  forgotten? 

303 


Foma  Gordy6eff 

I'll  reduce  you  to  order!  I'll  teach  you  to  respect  me!  Jail- 
birds!   I  say — hush,  all  of  you!  " 

They  did  become  silent,  in  fact,  being  frightened,  no 
doubt,  at  the  possibility  of  losing  his  good-will,  or,  possibly, 
afraid  that  he,  that  healthy  and  powerful  wild-beast,  would 
thrash  them.  For  a  minute  they  sat  silent,  concealing  their 
anger  at  him,  bending  low  over  their  plates,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  hide  from  him  their  alarm  and  confusion.  Foma 
surveyed  them  with  self-satisfaction,  and,  gratified  by  their 
slavish  obedience,  he  said,  boastfully: 

"Aha!  You  are  tamed  down  .  .  that's  right!  I'm 
strict!    I'm    .    ." 

"  A  booby! "  rang  out  a  calm,  loud  exclamation. 

"Wha-at?"  roared  Foma,  springing  from  his  chair. 
—"Who  said  that?" 

Then,  at  the  end  of  the  table,  there  rose  up  a  strange, 
shabby  man,  tall,  in  a  long  frock-coat,  with  a  heap  of  iron- 
gray  hair  on  his  enormous  head.  His  hair  was  stiff,  and 
stood  out  in  all  directions  in  thick  tufts,  his  face  was  sallow, 
cleanly  shaved,  with  a  large  hooked  nose.  He  struck  Foma 
as  resembling  the  swab  with  which  steamer-decks  are 
washed,  and  this  amused  the  half-intoxicated  young  fellow. 

"  Go-od,"  he  said,  with  a  grin.  "  What  are  you  snarling 
at,  hey?    Do  you  know  who  I  am?  " 

The  man,  with  the  gesture  of  a  tragic  actor,  stretched  out 
toward  Foma  his  hand,  with  long,  flexible  fingers,  such  as 
jugglers  have,  and  said,  in  a  thick,  hoarse  bass  voice: 

"  You — are  the  rotten  illness  of  your  father,  who,  al- 
though he  was  a  thief,  was  a  worthy  man,  nevertheless,  in 
comparison  with  you." 

Fomd  panted  for  breath  with  surprise  and  wrath,  he 
opened  his  eyes  very  widely  and  fiercely,  and  made  no  reply, 
being  unable  to  find  an  answer  to  this  insolence.    But  the 

304 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

man,  standing  opposite  him,  encouraged,  went  on  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  ferociously  rolling  his  large  but  faded  and  swollen 
eyes: 

"  You  demand  from  us  respect  for  yourself — ^you  fool! 
How  have  you  deserved  it?  AVho  are  you?  A  drunkard, 
who  has  drunk  up  his  father's  fortune  .  .  You  savage! 
You  ought  to  be  proud  that  I,  a  celebrated  artist,  a  dis- 
interested and  faithful  servitor  of  art,  drink  from  the  same 
bottle  with  you!  That  bottle  contains  sandal- wood  and 
molasses,  impregnated  with  snuff,  but  you  think  it  is  port- 
wine.  It  is  your  commission  to  the  rank  of  a  savage  and  an 
ass!" 

"  Akh,  you  jailbird!  "  roared  Foma,  rushing  at  the  artist. 
But  they  seized  him  and  held  him  back.  As  he  wrestled 
in  the  embrace  of  the  men  who  had  clutched  hold  of  him, 
he  was  forced  to  listen  without  replying,  while  the  man  who 
resembled  a  swab  thundered,  in  his  thick  and  heavy  bass: 

"  You  have  flung  a  two-kopek  piece  at  men,  out  of  the 
stolen  ruble  and  fancy  yourself  a  hero?  You  are  a  two- 
fold thief:  you  have  stolen  the  ruble,  and  now  you  are 
stealing  gratitude  for  your  two  kopeks! — But  I  won't  give 
it  to  you!  I,  who  have  devoted  my  whole  life  to  the  de-* 
tection  of  vice,  I  stand  before  you  and  say  to  you  boldly: 
*  You're  a  fool  and  a  beggar,  for  you  are  too  rich! '  That  is 
wisdom:  all  rich  men  are  beggars.  That  is  how  the  cele- 
brated verse-writer  Rimsky-Kannibalsky  serves  the  truth!  " 

Foma  was  now  standing  quietly  in  the  midst  of  the  men 
who  surrounded  him  closely,  and  listened  to  the  verse- 
writer's  thunderous  harangue,  which  now  aroused  in  him 
a  sensation  that  his  sore  spot  was  being  scratched,  and  there- 
by the  sharp  itch  of  pain  was  allayed.  Those  present  were 
agitated:  some  endeavored  to  stop  the  torrent  of  the  verse- 
writer's  eloquence,  others  tried  to  lead  Foma  away  some- 

305 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

where.  He  pushed  them  aside  in  silence,  and  listened,  more 
and  more  engrossed  in  the  keen  enjoyment  of  humiliation 
which  he  felt  in  the  presence  of  these  people.  The  pain 
which  the  verse-writer's  words  caused  him,  soothed  the  pain 
of  his  soul  more  and  more,  but  the  man  thundered  on,  be- 
coming intoxicated  with  the  impunity  of  his  condemnation: 

"You  think  that  you  are  the  lord  of  life?  You  are — 
the  base  slave  of  the  ruble." 

Some  one  present  kept  yawning  audibly,  and,  probably 
was  displeased  at  himself  for  so  doing,  for  every  time  he 
yawned,  he  swore: 

"  0,  the  dev-il!  '^ 

But  compassion  for  Foma  awoke  in  an  unshaven  man 
with  a  fat  face,  or  he  grew  tired  of  being  present  at  thia 
scene,  and  flourishing  his  hands,  he  drawled  plaintively: 

"  Ge-en-tle-men!  Sto-op  it!  It  isn't  ni-ice!  For  we  are 
all  sinners!    Decidedly,  all — believe  me!  " 

"  Come,  go  on!  "  muttered  Foma.  "  Say  all!  I  won't 
touch  you    .    ." 

The  mirrors  on  the  walls  reflected  this  drunken  turmoil, 
and  the  people  reflected  in  them  seemed  still  more  repulsive 
and  disgusting  than  they  were  in  reality. 

"  I  won't!  "  shouted  the  verse-writer, — "  I  won't  cast  the 
pearls  of  truth  and  of  my  passion  before  you    .    ." 

He  broke  away,  and  throwing  back  his  head,  walked 
toward  the  door,  with  tragic  strides. 

"  Nonsense!  "  said  Foma,  trying  to  follow  him. — "  Stop! 
You  have  disquieted  me — now  you  must  soothe  me." 

They  seized  him,  surrounded  him,  and  shouted  some- 
thing at  him,  but  he  darted  forward,  overturning  them  all. 
When  he  encountered  tangible  obstacles  in  his  path,  the 
conflict  with  them  calmed  him,  concentrating  all  his  feel- 
ings into  one  ardent  effort — to  overthrow  what  impeded 

306 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

him.  And  now,  after  lie  had  thrust  aside  all  the  people, 
and  rushed  out  into  the  street,  he  was  already  less  excited. 
As  he  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  he  cast  a  glance  at  the  street, 
and  with  mortification  asked  himself: 

"  How  could  he  permit  that  swab  to  jeer  at  him,  and 
revile  his  father  as  a  thief  ?  " 

All  around  him  everything  was  dark  and  still;  the  moon 
was  shining  brightly,  and  a  light,  refreshing  breeze  was 
blowing.  Presenting  his  face  to  the  cooling  zephyr,  Foma, 
with  swift  strides  walked  against  the  wind,  timidly  glancing 
about  him,  and  desirous  that  no  one  from  the  party  in  the 
eating-house  should  follow  him:  he  understood  that  he  had 
lowered  himself  in  the  eyes  of  all  those  people.  He  walked 
on  reflecting  to  what  a  pass  he  had  come:  some  swindler 
had  publicly  reviled  him  with  infamous  words,  and  he,  the 
son  of  a  celebrated  merchant,  had  not  been  able,  in  any 
way,  to  pay  him  off  for  his  derision. 

"  That's  just  what  I  need! "  thought  Foma,  dejectedly, 
with  malicious  delight. — "  That's  just  what  is  needed! 
Don't  lose  your  wits — understand  .  .  And,  then  again, 
I  brought  it  on  myself  .  .  I  provoked  them  all  .  .  So 
now, — take  the  consequences! "  These  thoughts  rendered 
him  painfully  sorry  for  himself.  Impressed  and  sobered 
by  them,  he  strolled  on  aimlessly  through  the  streets,  per- 
sistently seeking  in  himself  something  strong,  something 
firm  .  .  But  everything  within  him  was  obscure,  and 
merely  oppressed  his  heart,  assuming  no  definite  forms.  As 
in  an  unpleasant  dream,  he  reached  the  river,  seated  him- 
self on  some  beams  on  the  shore,  and  began  to  stare  at  the 
dark,  tranquil  water,  covered  with  tiny  ripples.  Calmly, 
and  almost  noiselessly  flowed  the  broad,  mighty  river,  bear- 
ing on  its  bosom  enormous  burdens.  It  was  all  laden  with 
black  vessels,  signal  lights,  and  stars  were  reflected  in  it« 

307 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

waters;  light  little  wavelets  washed  caressingly  and  with  a 
soft  murmur  against  the  shore,  directly  beneath  Foma's 
feet.  .  .  .  The  heavens  inspired  melancholy;  a  feeling 
of  isolation  took  possession  of  Foma. 

"  0,  Lord  Jesus!  "  he  thought,  gazing  sadly  at  the  sky. — 
"  What  a  queer  fellow  I  am  .  .  .  There's  nothing  in 
me,  .  .  God  put  nothing  in  me  .  .  Of  what  use  is  such 
a  man  as  I?    0,  Lord  Jesus!  "  * 

Foma  felt  somewhat  relieved  at  the  recollection  of  Christ, 
his  loneliness  seemed  alleviated,  somehow,  and  sighing  with 
the  full  power  of  his  breast,  Foma  began  to  talk  to  God 
without  words: 

"  0,  Lord  Jesus!  .  ,  .  Some  other  men  also  do  not 
understand,  but  they  think  they  know  everything,  and  so 
it  is  easier  for  them  to  live  .  .  .  But  there  is  no  excuse 
for  me  .  .  Here  it  is  night  .  .  but  I  am  alone,  and  I 
have  nowhere  to  go  .  .  I  cannot  say  anything  to  any- 
body, .  .  I  love  no  one  .  .  Only  my  god-father,  and 
he  has  no  soul  .  .  If  Thou  wouldst  only  punish  him; 
in  some  way!  .  .  He  thinks  that  there  is  no  one  on  earth 
wiser  or  better  than  himself  .  .  and  Thou  sufferest  this 
.  .  And  I  also  suffer  it  .  .  If  only  some  misfortune  were 
sent  to  me  .  .  if  I  could  but  fall  ill  .  .  .  But  I  am 
well,  I  am  .  .  like  iron  ...  I  drink,  I  carouse — I  live 
in  filth  .  .  .  but  my  body  does  not  even  grow  rusty, 
and  only  my  soul  aches  ...  0  Lord!  To  what  end  is 
such  a  life?" 

Timid  thoughts  of  protest  made  their  way,  one  after  an- 
other, into  the  mind  of  the  lonely,  erring  man,  but  the 
silence  around  him  only  became  more  and  more  dense,  and 

'Foma  betrays  that  he  is  an  "Old  Ritualist"  by  pronouncing  it: 
"  Isus,"  instead  of  "lisus,"  in  the  manner  of  the  State  Church. — 
Translator, 

308 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

the  night  grew  darker  and  darker.  Not  far  from  the  shore 
lay  a  boat  at  anchor;  it  rocked  from  side  to  side,  and  some- 
thing in  it  kept  creaking,  exactly  like  a  groan. 

"  How  am  I  to  free  myself  from  this  sort  of  life?  "  medi- 
tated Foma,  gazing  at  the  boat. — "And  what  occupation 
is  assigned  to  me?    Everyone  works    .    .    ." 

And,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  was  struck  with  an  idea  which 
was  great  to  him: 

"  And  hard  labor  is  cheaper  than  light  labor!  One  man 
puts  the  whole  of  himself  into  his  work  for  a  ruble,  and 
another  earns  a  thousand  with  his  finger  alone    .    ." 

This  thought  aroused  him  pleasantly:   it  seemed  to  him     " 
that  here  he  had  discovered  still  another  fraud  in  the  lives, 
of  men,  another  deception  which  they  concealed     .     .     .rf 
He  recalled  one  of  his  stokers — old  Ilya,  who,  for  twenty 
kopeks  stood  watch  over  the  furnace  out  of  his  turn,  and 
worked  for  his  comrade  eight  hours  at  a  stretch,  in  the 
suffocating  heat.    One  day,  having  fallen  ill  from  over-work, 
he  was  lounging  on  the  bow  of  the  steamer,  and  when  Foma 
asked  him  why  he  was  thus  working  himself  to  death,  Ilya 
replied  roughly  and  sullenly: 

"Because  every  kopek  is  more  to  me  than  a  hundred 
rubles  are  to  you,  that's  why." 

And  having  said  this,  the. old  man  heavily  turned  Ms 
body,  burning  with  fever,  with  its  back  to  Foma. 

Having  paused  over  the  stoker,  his  thought  suddenly, 
and  without  effort,  embraced  all  those  petty  people  who 
toiled  at  hard  labor.  It  was  strange — why  did  they  live? 
What  satisfaction  was  it  to  them  to  live  on  the  earth?  All 
they  did  was  to  perform  their  dirty,  arduous  toil,  eat  poorly, 
they  were  miserably  clad,  addicted  to  drunkenness  .  .  One 
was  sixty  years  old  but  he  still  toiled  side  by  side  with 
young  men     .     .     And  they  all  presented  themselves  to 

309 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Foma's  imagination  as  a  huge  heap  of  worms,  who  were 
swarming  on  the  earth  merely  to  eat.  One  after  another 
there  recurred  to  his  memory  his  disagreements  with  these 
people,  their  remarks  concerning  life, — remarks  which  had 
been  sometimes  sneering  and  mournful,  at  other  times 
hopelessly  morose, — their  wailing  songs  .  .  .  And  then 
he  remembered  how,  one  day,  Efim  had  said  to  the  clerk 
in  the  office  who  hired  the  sailors: 

"  The  Lopukhin  peasants  have  come  to  get  a  job,  so 
don't  you  give  them  more  than  ten  rubles  a  month.  Their 
village  was  burned  to  the  ground  this  summer,  and  now 
they  are  in  dire  want — they'll  work  for  ten  rubles." 

As  he  sat  on  the  beams,  Foma  rocked  his  whole  body  to 
and  fro,  and  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  river  in  front  of  him 
various  human  forms  silently  presented  themselves — sailors, 
stokers,  clerks,  waiters  from  the  eating-houses,  half-intoxi- 
cated, painted  women,  habitual  frequenters  of  the  restau- 
rants. They  floated  in  the  air  like  shadows,  a  damp  and 
brackish  odor  emanated  from  them,  and  their  dark,  dense 
mass  rolled  onward  as  slowly,  noiselessly,  and  tumultuously 
as  autumnal  clouds  across  the  sky.  The  tranquil  plashing 
of  the  waves  poured  into  his  soul  like  music  sighing  mourn- 
fully. Far  away,  somewhere  on  the  other  bank  of  the  river, 
burned  a  bonfire;  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  the  darkness,  it 
was,  at  times,  almost  engulfed  by  it, — and  through  the 
gloom  flickered  a  reddish  spot,  barely  visible  to  the  eye. 
But  now  the  fire  flared  up  again — the  darkness  gave  way 
before  it,  and  it  could  be  seen  flaming  upwards.  And  again 
it  was  extinguished    .    .    . 

"  0  Lord,  0  Lord! ''  thought  Foma  painfully  and  bitterly, 
as  anguish  wrung  his  heart  ever  more  powerfully. — "  And 
here  am  I,  also, — entirely  alone,  like  that  fire.  Only,  there 
is  no  light  from  me,  nothing  but  stifling  vapor    .     .    . 

310 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

deadly  fumes.  I  wish  I  could  meet  a  sensible  man  .  .  I 
should  have  some  one  to  talk  with  .  .  It  is  utterly  im- 
possible for  me  to  live  alone  .  .  I  can  do  nothing  .  .  . 
I  wish  I  could  meet  a  man    .    .'' 

Far  away,  on  the  river,  two  large,  crimson  lights  made 
their  appearance,  and  above  them  a  third.  A  dull  roar 
proceeded  thence,  and  something  black  moved  towards 
Foma. 

"  A  steamer  going  down  the  river,"  he  said  to  himself. 
*'  There  may  be  more  than  a  hundred  people  aboard  her, 
and  .  .  I  have  nothing  in  common  with  a  single  one  of 
them  .  .  They  all  know  whither  they  are  floating  .  .  . 
They  all  have  interests  .  .  every  one  of  them,  I  suppose, 
understands  what  he  wants  .  .  but  what  do  I  want?  And 
who  will  tell  me?    Where  is  there  such  a  man?  " 

The  lights  of  the  steamer  were  reflected  in  the  river,  and 
quivered  there,  the  illuminated  water  flowed  away  from  it 
with  a  dull  murmur,  and  the  steamer  looked  like  a  huge 
black  fish  with  fiery  fins. 

A  few  days  passed  after  this  distressing  night,  and  then 
Foma  started  on  another  spree.  It  came  about  unexpect- 
edly, and  against  his  own  desire.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  refrain  from  drinking,  and  had  gone  to  dine  in  one  of 
the  expensive  restaurants  of  the  town,  in  the  hope  that  there 
he  would  meet  none  of  his  familiar  boon-companions,  who 
always  selected  for  their  debauches  the  cheaper  and  less  re- 
spectable places.  But  his  calculation  proved  to  be  incor- 
rect: he  immediately  ran  into  the  joyously-friendly  em- 
brace of  the  vodka  distiller  who  had  taken  Sasha  as  his 
mistress. 

This  man  ran  up  to  Foma,  embraced  him,  and  burst  into 
a  cheery  laugh. 

"  Here's  a  meeting  for  you!    This  is  the  third  day  I  have 

311 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

been  taking  my  meals  here,  and  it's  tiresome  in  this  op- 
pressive loneliness  .  .  There  isn't  a  decent  man  in  the 
whole  town,  so  yesterday  I  struck  up  an  acquaintance  with 
the  newspaper  men  .  .  I  must  say,  they  are  a  jolly  set 
.  .  though,  at  first,  they  played  the  aristocrats,  and  kept 
sniffing  at  me,  but  afterwards,  we  all  got  smashing  drunk 
.  .,  And  it  shall  be  the  same  to-day — I  swear  it,  by  the 
fortune  of  my  father!  I'll  introduce  you  to  them  .  . 
There's  one  feuilleton-writer  among  them,  you  know — the 
one  who  lauded  you  that  time — what's  his  name?  He's  an 
amusing  little  fellow — devil  take  him! — Do  you  know — 
you  ought  to  hire  one  of  that  sort  for  your  own  use  ?  !  Give 
him  so  much,  and  order  him  to  attend  on  you — '  cheer  me 
up! '  That's  a  fine  idea,  isn't  it?  I  had  a  verse-writer  in  my 
employ — and  he  made  things  very  amusing,  do  you  know 
.  .  .  I  used  to  order  him  '  Eimsky!  make  some  coup- 
lets! '  He'd  begin, — and  I  tell  you  plainly, — he'd  make 
you  almost  split  with  laughing. — It's  a  pity,  he  ran  away 
somewhere    .    .    Have  you  dined  ? " 

"Not  yet. — And  how  is  Alexandra?" — inquired  Foma, 
somewhat  stunned  by  the  loud  speech  of  this  tall,  free- 
mannered  young  fellow,  with  a  red  face  and  motley  gar- 
ments. 

"  We-ell,  you  know," — returned  the  latter,  with  a  frown, 
— "  That  Alexandra  of  yours  is — a  trash-woman!  She's  an 
obscure  sort  of  person  .  .  it's  dull  with  her,  devil  take 
her!  She's  as  cold  as  a  frog,  brr!  I'm  going  to  discharge 
her." 

"  She  is  cold, — that's  true,"  said  Foma,  and  became 
thoughtful. 

"  Every  man  must  manage  his  own  business  in  the  best 
possible  way,"  said  the  vodka-distiller's  son  didactically, — 
"  and  if  you  become  a  man's  mistress,  you  must  do  your  duty 

312 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

in  the  very  best  way  .  .  if  you  are  a  respectable  woman 
.    .    Well,  sir,  shall  we  have  a  drink  of  vodka?" 

They  had  a  drink.    And,  of  course,  they  drank  too  much. 

Towards  evening,  a  large  and  noisy  party  assembled  in 
the  hotel,  and  Foma,  drunk,  but  sad  and  quiet,  said  to  them, 
with  twisting  tongue: 

"This  is  the  way  I  understand  it:  some  people  are 
worms,  others  are  sparrows  .  .  .  The  sparrows  are  the 
merchants  .  .  .  They  peck  the  worms  .  .  That's  their 
appointed  task  .  .  .  They  are  necessary  .  .  But  I  am 
of  no  use — neither  are  all  of  you  .  .  We  live  without 
comparison — and  without  justification  .  .  utterly  at  hap- 
hazard .  .  And  we  aren't  needed  in  the  least.  But  for 
what  are  those  fellows, — and  all  people?  We  must  under- 
stand that.  Comrades!  We  shall  all  break!  .  .  by  heaven 
we  shall!  And  why  shall  we  break?  Because  of  the  super- 
fluous that  is  always  in  us  .  .  it's  in  our  soul  .  .  and 
our  whole  life  is  superfluous!  Comrades!  I  weep  .  .  . 
of  what  use  am  I?  .  .  Kill  me  .  .  so  that  I  may  die 
.    .    I  want  to  die    .    ." 

And  he  shed  copious,  drunken  tears.  A  fuddled  little 
black-visaged  man  sat  down  beside  him,  and  began  to  re- 
mind him  of  something,  tried  to  kiss  him,  and  shouted,  as 
he  pounded  with  his  knife  on  the  table: 

"He's  right!  Hold  your  tongues!  I'm  wetting  down 
the  word.  Give  the  word  to  the  elephants  and  mammoths 
of  the  disorder  of  life!  The  raw  Eussian  conscience  makes 
saintly  speeches!  Eoar  away,  Gordyeeff!  Eoar  at  every- 
thing! .  ."  And  again  he  clutched  hold  of  Foma's  shoul- 
der, and  flung  himself  on  his  breast,  raising  to  Foma's  face 
his  round,  black,  closely-cropped  head,  which  waggled  in- 
cessantly on  his  shoulders  in  every  direction,  so  that  Foma 
could  not  get  a  look  at  his  face,  waxed  angry  with  him  on 

313 


Foma  Gordydeff 

that  account,  and  kept  pushing  him  away,  shouting  in 

irritation: 

"Keep  off!    Where's  your  ugly  phiz?    Be  off  with  you!  " 
Deafening    drunken  laughter  encircled  them,  and  the 

vodka-distiller's  son,  panting  with  mirth,  roared  hoarsely 

to  some  one: 

"  Come  to  me!    A  hundred  rubles  a  month,  board  and 

lodging!    My  word  of  honor!    Come!    My  word  of  honor! 

Spit  on  the  newspaper    .    .    I'll  give  you  more!  " 

And  everything  swayed  from  side  to  side,  with  smooth, 
wave-like  movements.  The  people  now  receded  from  Foma, 
now  approached  him,  the  ceiling  descended,  and  the  floor 
rose  upwards,  and  it  seemed  to  Foma  that  the  next  moment 
it  would  flatten  him,  crush  him.  Then  he  was  conscious 
that  he  was  floating  off  somewhere,  on  an  illimitably-broad 
and  tumultuous  river,  and  staggering  as  he  stood,  he  began 
to  shout  aloud  in  terror: 

"  "WTiither  are  we  floating?    Where  is  the  captain?  " 

The  answer  to  him  was  the  loud,  senseless  laughter  of 
the  drunken  men,  and  the  sharp,  repulsive  cry  of  the  black- 
visaged  man: 

"  Right,  sir!  We're  all  without  a  rudder,  without  sails 
.    .    .    Where's  the  captain?    Wha-at?    Ha-ha-ha! " 

Foma  recovered  from  this  nightmare  in  a  tiny  chamber 
with  two  windows,  and  the  first  thing  his  eyes  lighted  upon 
was  a  dead  tree.  It  stood  under  the  window;  its  thick 
trunk,  stripped  of  its  bark,  and  with  a  rotten  heart,  impeded 
the  entrance  of  light  into  the  room;  its  gnarled,  black,  leaf- 
less branches  spread  out  mournfully  and  impotently  in  the 
air,  and  waved  about  softly,  with  a  piteous  squeak.  Eain 
was  falling,  rivulets  of  water  were  pouring  down  the  panes, 

314 


Foma  Gordydeff 

and  could  be  heard  falling  from  the  roof  to  the  ground 
and  sobbing  there.  With  this  plaintive  sound  was  mingled 
another,  a  shrill  one,  the  constantly  interrupted,  hurried 
Bcreech  of  a  pen  over  paper,  and  a  sort  of  spasmodic  growl. 

With  difficulty  turning  his  aching,  heavy  head  on  the 
pillow,  Foma  perceived  the  little  black-visaged  man,  sitting 
at  a  table,  swiftly  scratching  with  his  pen  on  paper,  shak- 
ing his  round  head  with  approbation,  twisting  it  from  side 
to  side,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  with  all  his  tiny  body, — 
clothed  only  in  drawers  and  night-shirt — moving  inces- 
santly on  his  chair,  as  though  it  were  too  hot  for  him  to  sit 
on,  yet  he  could  not  rise,  for  some  reason  or  other.  His 
left  hand,  thin  and  slender,  now  vigorously  wiped  the  per- 
spiration from  his  brow,  now  made  incomprehensible  signs 
in  the  air;  his  bare  feet  shuffled  on  the  floor,  one  of  the 
sinews  in  his  neck  kept  jerking,  and  even  his  ears  were  in 
motion.  When  his  face  was  turned  towards  Foma,  Foma 
saw  thin  Hps,  which  were  whispering*  something,  a  pointed 
nose  which  drooped  over  his  scanty  mustache,  and  this  tiny 
mustache  twitched  upward  every  time  the  man  smiled  .  . 
His  face  was  sallow,  swollen,  wrinkled,  and  his  black,  viva- 
cious, brilliant  little  eyes  seemed  not  to  belong  to  it.  When 
he  grew  weary  of  gazing  at  him,  Foma  began  slowly  to  cast 
his  eyes  about  the  room.  Upon  large  nails,  driven  into  its 
walls,  hung  bundles  of  newspapers,  which  made  the  walls 
look  as  though  they  were  covered  with  tumors.  At  some 
period  or  other,  white  paper  had  been  pasted  on  the  ceiling; 
it  was  puffed  out  like  bladders,  and  torn,  it  had  peeled  off, 
and  hung  in  dirty  fragments;  clothing,  boots,  books,  torn 
bits  of  paper,  strewed  the  floor  .  .  The  whole  room  pro- 
duced the  impression  of  having  been  scalded  with  boiling 
water. 

The  little  man  flung  aside  his  pen,  bent  over  the  table, 

315 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

drummed  briskly  on  the  edge  of  it  with  his  fingers,  and 
began  to  sing  softly,  in  a  weak  little  voice: 

"  Ta-ake  the  drum,  and  have  no  fearl 
Ki-iss  the  vivandiere  more  loudly  I 
Of  profoundest  science  that  is  the  sense^ 
'Tie  the  sense  of  a-all  philosophy  I " 

Foma  sighed  heavily,  and  said: 

"  Can't  I  have  a  drink  of  seltzer  water?  " 

"Aha!''  exclaimed  the  little  man,  and  springing  from 
his  chair,  he  found  himself  beside  the  broad  divan,  covered 
with  oil-cloth,  whereon  Foma  was  lying. — "  Good  morning, 
chum!    Seltzer  water?  Yes!    With  brandy,  or  plain?" 

"  Better  with  brandy,"  said  Foma,  shaking  the  dry,  hot 
hand  which  was  extended  to  him,  and  gazing  intently  into 
the  face  of  the  little  man. 

"  Egorovna ! "  the  latter  shouted  through  the  door,  and 
turning  to  Foma,  he  inquired:  "  Don't  you  recognize  me, 
Foma  Ignatievitch?  " 

"I  remember  something  .  .  as  though  we  had  met 
before    .    ." 

"  That  meeting  lasted  for  four  years — ^but  that  was  long 
ago!"    Ezhoff    .    ."  '  M 

"Heavens!"  cried  Foma  with  amazement,  raising  him- 
self on  the  divan. — "  Is  it  really  you?  " 

"  I  myself,  my  dear  fellow,  can  hardly  believe  it,  at  times, 
but  it's  an  actual  fact — there's  something  which  makes  doubt 
bound  back  like  an  india-rubber  ball  from  iron." 

Ezhoff's  face  became  absurdly  distorted,  and  his  hands, 
for  some  reason,  began  to  fumble  at  his  breast. 

"  "We-e-ell!  "  drawled  Foma.  "  How  old  you  have  grown! 
Ai-a'i-ai!    How  old  are  you?  " 

"  Thirty." 

316 


Foma  Gordy6eff 

"  You  look  fully  fifty  .  .  lean,  yellow  .  .  Evidently, 
it  is  not  sweet  to  live  ?    And  you  drink,  I  see    .    .    .'* 

Foma  felt  sorry  to  see  his  merry,  alert  school-mate  so 
worn  out,  and  Hving  in  this  dog-hole,  which  seemed  to  be 
swollen  from  burns.  He  stared  at  him,  winking  sadly,  and 
saw  that  Ezhoff^s  face  kept  twitching  constantly,  while  his 
little  eyes  blazed  with  irritation.  Ezhoff  was  uncorking  a 
bottle  of  seltzer-water,  and  thus  occupied,  maintained  si- 
lence, holding  the  bottle  tight  between  his  knees  and  strain- 
ing in  the  effort  to  extract  the  cork.  And  his  weakness  also 
touched  Fomd. 

"  We-ell,  life  has  robbed  you  .  .  Yet  you  were  well- 
educated  .  .  Evidently,  man  gets  but  Httle  help  from 
the  sciences," — said  Godyeeff  thoughtfully. 

"  Drink!  '*  said  Ezhoff,  fairly  turning  pale  with  fatigue, 
and  handing  him  a  glass.  Then  he  mopped  his  forehead, 
seated  himself  on  the  divan  beside  Foma,  and  began: 

"Don't  attack  science!  Science  is  a  divine  beverage 
.  .  .  but  up  to  the  present  time,  it  has  not  got  through 
fermenting,  and  is  unfit  for  use,  like  vodka  which  has  not 
been  clarified  from  fusel  oil.  Science  is  not  yet  ready  for 
man's  happiness,  my  friend  .  .  .  and  all  that  living  peo- 
^  pie  who  use  it  get  out  of  it  is  headaches  .  .  that's  the 
state  of  the  case  with  you  and  me  just  at  present  .  .  . 
'Why  do  you  drink  so  rashly?  " 

"  I  ?    .    .    But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked  Foma,  laughing. 

Ezhoff  stared  at  Foma  searchingly,  with  his  eyes  puckered 
up,  and  said: 

"  Taking  your  question  in  connection  with  all  you  bab- 
bled last  night,  I  assume,  from  my  troubled  soul,  that  you 
also,  my  friend,  do  not  find  a  jolly  Hfe  very  jolly    .    ." 

"  Ekh!  "  sighed  Foma  gravely,  as  he  rose  from  the  divan. 
— "What  is  my  Hfe  like?    Something  outrageous    .    .    I 

317 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

live  alone  .  .  I  understand  nothing. — And  I  long  for 
something.  I  want  to  spit  in  contempt  on  everything,  and 
sink  down  somewhere,  out  of  sight!  I'd  like  to  run  away 
from  everything    .    .    .    I'm  hored! " 

"  This  is  curious! "  said  Ezhoff,  rubbing  his  hands,  and 
whirling  completely  round. — "  This  is  curious,  if  it  is  true 
and  deep,  for  it  proves  that  the  holy  spirit  of  dissatisfaction 
\  with  life  has  made  its  way  even  into  the  bed-chambers  of 
I  the  merchant-class  ...  to  the  dead  of  soul,  drowned 
in  greasy  cabbage-soup,  in  lakes  of  tea,  and  other  liquids 
.  .  You  must  expound  all  that  to  me  in  proper  order  .  . 
Then,  my  dear  fellow,  I  will  write  a  romance." 

"  I  have  been  told  that  you  have  already  written  some- 
thing about  me?  "  asked  Foma,  with  curiosity,  and  again  he 
attentively  scrutinized  his  old  chum,  unable  to  understand 
how  he,  so  pitiful  a  creature,  could  write  anything. 

"  Yes,  I  have!    Did  you  read  it?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  have  the  chance    .    ." 

"  But  what  were  you  told?  " 

"  That  you  abused  me  roundly." 

"  Hm  .  .  Wouldn't  it  interest  you  to  read  it  for  your- 
self ?  " — persisted  Ezhoff,  staring  point-blank  at  Gordyeeff. 

"  I'll  read  it!  "  Foma  said  to  encourage  him,  feeling  em- 
barrassed in  the  presence  of  Ezhoff,  and  that  Ezhoff  was 
offended  by  such  treatment  of  his  writings. — "  In  fact,  it 
must  be  interesting,  if  it  is  about  me,  .  ."  he  added,  with  a 
kindly  smile  at  his  comrade. 

But,  as  he  said  this,  he  did  not  feel  any  interest  whatever, 
and  spoke  thus  only  out  of  compassion  for  Ezhoff.  What 
he  felt  was  something  entirely  different:  he  wanted  to  find 
out  what  sort  of  a  man  Ezhoff  was,  and  why  he  had  become 
so  worn-out? 

This  encounter  had  given  birth  in  him  to  a  tranquil  and 

318 


Fomi  Gordy^efif 

kindly  sentiment,  had  evoked  memories  of  his  childhood, 
and  they  now  flickered  through  his  memory, — flickered  like 
tiny,  unassuming  little  lights,  timidly  shining  at  him  from 
the  far-away  past. 

Ezhoff  went  to  the  table,  on  which  already  stood  a  boil- 
ing samovar,  and  silently  poured  out  two  glasses  of  tea  as 
strong  as  tar,  and  said  to  Foma: 

"  Come  and  drink  tea  .  .  And  tell  me  about  your- 
self/' 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  .  .  I  have  seen  nothing  in  life 
.  .  My  life  is  empty!  You  had  better  tell  me  about  your- 
self— for  I  think  you  know  more  than  I  do    .    ." 

Ezhoff  pondered,  never  ceasing  to  twist  his  whole  body 
about  and  to  whirl  his  head.  In  meditation,  only  his  face 
became  motionless, — all  the  wrinkles  on  it  collected  together 
around  his  eyes,  and  encircled  them,  as  it  were,  with  rays, 
but  this  made  the  eyes  sink  still  deeper  under  the  brow. 

"  "We-ell,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  seen  and  I  know  a  thing 
or  two  .  .  /'  he  began,  shaking  his  head.  "  And  I  even 
know  more  than  I  ought  to,  and  to  know  more  than  is 
necessary,  is  as  injurious  to  a  man  as  not  to  know  that 
which  it  is  indispensable  that  one  should  know  .  .  . 
Tell  you  how  I  have  lived?  Yes — at  least,  I  will  try.  I 
have  never  told  anyone  about  myself,  .  .  .  because  I 
never  have  excited  interest  in  anyone  ...  It  wounds 
a  man's  feelings  greatly  to  live  in  the  world  without  excit- 
ing people's  interest    .    .    ! " 

"I  see  by  your  face,  and  by  everything  else,  that  you 
have  not  found  life  easy! "  said  Foma,  feeling  pleased  that, 
to  all  appearances,  his  comrade  had  not  found  life  sweet 
any  more  than  himself. 

Ezhoff  swallowed  his  tea  at  one  gulp,  dashed  the  glass 
down  on  the  saucer,  put  his  feet  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  and 

319 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

clasping  his  knees  with  his  hands,  he  laid  his  chin  on  them. 
In  this  attitude,  small  and  flexible  as  rubber,  he  began: 

"  Student  Satchkoff,  who  was  my  teacher,  and  is  now  a 
doctor  of  medicine,  a  vint  ^  player,  and  a  sneak,  used  to 
say  to  me,  when  I  learned  my  lesson  well:  *  That's  a  fine 
fellow,  Kolya!  You're  a  gifted  lad  .  .  .  We  plebeians, 
poor  and  simple  people,  from  life's  back-yard,  must  study, 
and  study,  in  order  to  stand  at  the  head  of  all  .  .  .  Rus- 
sia needs  clever  and  honest  men,  strive  to  be  such  an  one, 
and  you  will  be  the  master  of  your  fate,  and  a  useful  mem- 
ber of  society.  On  us  plebeians  now  rest  the  best  hopes  of 
the  country,  we  have  been  called  to  introduce  into  it  light, 
the  truth  .  .  .'  and  so  forth.  I  believed  him,  the  beast. 
And  about  twenty  years  have  elapsed  since  that  time — ^we 
plebeians  have  grown  up,  but  we  have  not  taken  out  any 
sense,  and  we  haven't  introduced  any  light  into  life.  Rus- 
sia is  still  suffering,  as  before,  with  her  chronic  ailment — a 
superabundance  of  scoundrels — and  we  plebeians  gladly  fill 
up  their  dense  ranks.  My  teacher,  I  repeat — was  a  lackey, 
an  impersonal,  taciturn  creature,  who  takes  his  orders  from 
the  mayor  of  the  town, — ^but  I  am  a  clown  in  the  service  of 
society.  Glory  pursues  me,  my  dear  fellow,  here  in  town. — 
I  walk  along  the  street,  and  I  hear  a  cabman  say  to  his  fel- 
low-cabby: *  There  goes  Ezhoff !  He  snarls  viciously — the 
flies  are  biting  him  I'  So-o  then!  To  this  also  must  one 
attain." 

Ezhoff's  face  wrinkled  up  into  a  caustic  grimace,  and  he 
laughed  in  a  noiseless  way,  as  though  with  his  lips  only. 
His  speech  was  incomprehensible  to  Foma,  and,  in  order 
to  say  something,  he  remarked  at  random: 

"  You  didn't  attain  to  what  you  aimed  at." 

*  Vint  ia  Russian  whist. — Translator 
320 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Yes,  I  thought  I  should  grow  up  bigger.    And  so  I 
would!    So  I  would,  I  say!  " 

He  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  ran  about  the  room,  ex- 
claiming briskly  and  in  a  squeak: 

"  But,  in  order  to  keep  oneself  pure  for  life,  and  in 
r*  order  to  be  a  free  man  in  life — vast  powers  are  required!* 
)  I  had  them  .  .  I  had  flexibility,  dexterity  .  .  I  wasted 
(^  all  that  merely  with  the  object  of  learning  something  .  .  . 
which  is  perfectly  useless  to  me  now,  I  squandered  the  whole 
of  myself  in  order  to  treasure  up  something  within  myself 
...  0,  the  devil!  I,  and  many  others  along  with  me, 
robbed  ourselves  for  the  sake  of  amassing  something  towards 
life  .  .  .  Just  think  of  it, — wishing  to  make  of  myself  ' 
a  valuable  man,  I  rendered  my  personality  very  cheap  .  . 
In  order  to  study,  and  not  perish  with  hunger,  for  six  con- 
secutive years  I  taught  reading  and  writing  to  some  block- 
heads, and  endured  a  mass  of  meanness  from  various  papas 
and  mammas,  who  humiliated  me  without  the  slightest  com- 
punction.— As  I  earned  enough  for  bread  and  tea  only,  I 
had  no  time  to  earn  enough  for  boots,  and  applied  to  a 
philanthropic  society  with  a  most  humble  request  for  aid 
.  .  .  in  my  poverty  ...  If  the  benevolent  people 
^  could  only  reckon  up  how  much  spirit  they  kill  in  a  man 
by  supporting  the  life  of  the  body!  If  they  only  knew, 
that  every  ruble  which  they  give  for  bread,  contains  ninety-  j 
nine  kopeks  of  poison  for  the  soul!  If  they  could  only  be 
torn  in  pieces  by  the  excess  of  the  kindness  and  pride  which 
they  get  out  of  their  sacred  activity!  There  is  not  on  the 
earth  a  more  disgusting  and  repulsive  man  than  the  one 
who  bestows  alms,  as  there  is  not  a  more  unhappy  man  than 
he  who  accepts  it!  " 

Ezhoff  staggered  about  the  room  like  a  drunken  man, 
seized  with  madness,  and  the  paper  under  his  feet  rustled, 

321 


Fomi  Gordy^eff 

tore,  flew  into  strips.  He  gnashed  his  teeth,  twisted  his 
head  about,  his  arms  dangled  in  the  air  like  the  broken 
wings  of  a  bird,  and  it  seemed  as  though  he  were  being 
boiled  in  a  kettle  of  hot  water.  Foma  stared  at  him  with  a 
strange,  two-fold  feeling:  he  was  sorry  for  Ezhoff,  and  it 
pleased  him  to  see  how  he  was  tortured. 

"  I'm  not  alone  .  .  he  is  in  straits  also,"  thought  Foma, 
as  an  accompaniment  to  his  speech.  But  something  in 
Ezhoff's  throat  was  jingling  like  broken  glass,  and  squeak- 
ing like  a  hinge  that  needs  oiling. 

"  Poisoned  by  people's  kindness,  I  came  to  grief  through 
jthe  capacity  possessed  by  every  poor  devil — the  capacity  for 
'reconciling  himself  with  httle,  in  the  expectation  of  much 
.  .  0!  do  you  know? — more  people  perish  through  lack 
of  setting  a  proper  valuation  upon  themselves,  than  through 
consumption,  and  that  is  why,  possibly,  leaders  of  the  masses 
serve  as  district  police  captains!  " 

"  Devil  take  the  police  captains!  "  said  Foma,  waving  his 
hand.    ^^  Go  ahead  about  yourself    .    ." 

"About  myself?  I — that's  all  there  is!"  exclaimed 
Ezhoff,  halting  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  beating  his 
hands  against  his  breast  .  . — "  All  I  could  accomplish  I 
have  accomplished  .  .  I  have  attained  to  the  rank  of  fun- 
maker  for  the  public, — and  I  can  do  no  more!  To  know 
J  what  should  be  done,  and  not  to  be  able  to  do  it,  not  to 
Ihave  the  strength  for  your  work — that  is  what  is  called 
torture! " 

"  You  don't  say  so!  Wait  a  bit! "  said  Foma,  growing 
animated. — "  Come,  tell  me,  what  one  ought  to  do,  in  order 
to  live  calmly,  that  is  to  say,  so  that  one  will  be  satisfied 
with  himself?" 

"  To  that  end,  one  must  live  uneasily,  and  avoid,  like  the 
[plague,  even  the  possibility  of  being  satisfied  with  himself  J  " 

323 


Foma  Gordydeft 

These  words  had  a  big  but  empty  sound  to  Foma,  and 
the  sound  of  them  died  away  without  having  stirred  up  in 
his  heart  any  feeling  whatever,  without  having  begotten  in 
his  brain  a  single  thought. 

"  You  must  always  be  in  love  with  something  which  you- 
cannot  attain  ...  A  man  becomes  taller  by  stretching 
upwards." 

Having  now  ceased  to  speak  of  himself,  Ezhoff  began 
to  talk  in  a  different  tone,  with  more  composure.  His  voice 
rang  out  firmly  and  confidently,  while  his  face  became  stern 
and  dignified.  He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  his 
hand  raised,  with  finger  outstretched,  and  talked  as  though 
he  were  reading: 

"  People  are  base,  because  they  strive  to  be  full-fed  .  . 
The  well-fed  man — is  an  animal,  for  satiety  is  the  self-con- 
ceit of  the  body.  And  self-conceit  of  the  spirit  also  turns 
a  man  into  an  animal    .    ." 

Again  he  twitched  all  over,  as  though  all  his  sinews  and 
muscles  were  suddenly  subjected  to  a  strain,  and  again  he 
began  to  run  about  the  room  in  seething  agitation. 

"  The  self-satisfied  man  is  an  indurated  tumor  on  the^, 
bosom  of  society,  .  .  he  is  my  sworn  enemy.  He  stuffs ; 
himself  with  cheap  truths,  worm-eaten  morsels  of  musty 
wisdom,  and  exists,  like  a  lumber-room,  in  which  a  miserly 
house-wife  stores  up  all  sorts  of.  rubbish,  which  is  perfectly 
useless  to  her,  and  of  no  use  to  anyone  .  .  If  you  touch 
such  a  man,  if  you  open  the  door  into  him,  he  will  breathe 
upon  you  with  the  stink  of  decay,  and  into  the  air  which 
you  inhale,  will  pour  forth  a  stream  of  some  rotten  trash 
or  other  .  .  These  unhappy  men  are  called  men  of  firm 
)mind,  men  with  principles  and  convictions  .  .  .  and  no 
one  cares  to  notice  that  their  convictions  are  merely  under- 
drawers,  wherewith  they  cover  up  the  wretched  nakedness/ 

323 


Foma  Gordydeff 

of  their  souls.  On  the  narrow  brows  of  such  people  there 
always  shines  the  inscription  which  is  familiar  to  everyone: 
'  Calmness  and  confidence  ' — a  false  inscription!  Rub  their 
brows  with  a  firm  hand,  and  you  will  see  the  real  sign-board 
— on  it  is  depicted:     'Narrowness  and  dulness  of  soul!'" 

Foma  watched  Ezhoff  as  the  latter  flung  himself  about 
the  room,  and  thought  sadly: 

"  Whom  is  he  vituperating?  I  can't  understand  .  . 
But  he  has  been  terribly  wounded — that  is  plainly  visi- 
ble   .    ." 

"  How  many  such  people  have  I  seen! "  shrieked  Ezhoff 
with  rage  and  terror.  "  How  many  such  petty  retail  shops 
have  been  multiplied  through  life!  In  them  you  will  find 
calico  for  shrouds,  and  tar,  caramels,  and  borax  to  exter- 
minate cockroaches, — but  you  will  not  be  able  to  hunt  out 
anything  fresh,  hot,  healthy!  You  go  to  them  with  an 
aching  soul,  exhausted  with  loneliness, — you  come  thirsting 
fto  hear  something  vivifying  .  .  .  They  offer  you  some 
'warm  cud  or  other,  thoughts  chewed  up  from  books,  and 
turned  thoroughly  sour  with  age.  And  all  these  dry,  stale 
'thoughts  are  so  paltry  that  they  require  to  express  them  an 
enormous  quantity  of  sonorous,  empty  words.  When  such 
a  man  speaks,  it  seems  to  me:  '  Here's  a  nag  which  is  well- 
fed,  but  has  been  spoiled  by  injudicious  watering,  all  hung 
round  with  sleigh-bells, — it's  carting  a  load  of  rubbish  out 
of  the  town,  and — unhappy  wretch! — it  is  satisfied  with  its 
fate!'" 

"They,  also,  are  superfluous  people,  of  course,"  said 
Foma.  Ezhoff  halted  in  front  of  him,  and  with  a  caustic 
smile  on  his  lips,  remarked: 

"No,  they  are  not  superfluous,  oh  no!     They  exist  as 

!  examples    ...    to  show  what  a  man  ought  not  to  be. 

To  tell  the  truth, — their  proper  place  is  in  the  anatomical 

824 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

museums,  where  all  sorts  of  monsters,  various  unhealthy 
deviations  from  the  harmonious,  are  preserved.  In  life,  myj 
dear  fellow,  nothing  is  superfluous  .  .  even  I  am  necesJ 
sary!  Only  those  people  in  whose  souls  servile  cowardice 
in  the  face  of  life  has  taken  up  its  abode,  in  whose  breasts, 
in  place  of  a  dead  heart  there  is  a  huge  abscess  of  the 
most  abominable  self-adoration, — only  they  are  superfluous 
....  but  even  they  are  necessary,  if  only  that  I  mayj 
pour  out  my  hatred  upon  them.'' 

All  day  long,  until  the  evening,  Ezhoff  boiled,  belching 
forth  censure  on  men  who  were  hateful  to  him,  and  his  re- 
marks,— although  their  drift  was  obscure  to  Foma, — in- 
fected him  with  their  evil  flame, — infected  him,  and  evoked 
in  Foma  his  pugnacious  sentiment.  At  times  there  flashed 
up  within  him  distrust  of  Ezhoff,  and,  in  one  of  these  mo- 
ments, he  asked  him  point-blank: 

"Well — and  dare  you  talk  like  that  to  men,  to  their 
faces?" 

"  On  every  convenient  occasion.  And  every  Sunday,  in 
the  newspaper.    I'll  read  some  of  it  to  you,  if  you  like?  " 

Without  awaiting  Foma's  answer,  he  tore  down  from  the 
wall  several  sheets  of  newspaper,  and,  still  continuing  to 
run  about  the  room,  he  began  to  read  to  him.  He  bellowed 
and  squealed,  he  laughed  and  showed  his  teeth  in  a  grin, 
and  resembled  a  bad-tempered  dog,  who  is  tearing  at  his 
chain  in  impotent  rage.  Although  he  did  not  grasp  the 
sense  of  his  companion's  compositions,  Foma  was  conscious 
of  their  daring  audacity,  virulent  mockery,  burning  malice, 
and  he  found  them  agreeable,  just  as  though  he  had  beenj 
scourged  in  the  hot  bath  with  birch-besoms. 

"  That's  clever! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  caught  some  de- 
tached phrase. — "  Stoutly  hurled!  " 

Every  now  and  then  there  flashed  past  familiar  names  of 

325 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

merchants  and  of  distinguished  citizens  whom  Ezhoff  had 
stung,  now  boldly  and  keenly,  now  respectfully  and  with  a 
sting  as  delicate  as  a  needle. 

Foma's  approbation,  his  eyes  blazing  with  satisfaction, 
and  his  excited  visage,  inspired  Ezhoff  still  more,  and  he 
kept  roaring  louder  and  louder,  and  bellowing,  now  falling 
on  the  divan,  again  springing  up  and  rushing  at  Foma. 

"  Come  now,  read  about  me! "  shouted  Foma,  bursting 
into  a  hearty  laugh. 

Ezhoff  rummaged  among  a  pile  of  newspapers,  tore  out  a 
sheet,  and  grasping  it  in  both  hands,  took  up  his  stand  in 
front  of  Foma,  with  his  legs  straddling  far  apart,  while  Foma 
lolled  back  in  an  arm-chair  with  a  hole  in  the  seat,  and 
listened  with  a  smile. 

The  article  about  Foma  started  out  with  a  description 
of  the  debauch  on  the  rafts,  and  as  the  reading  of  it  pro- 
ceeded, Foma  began  to  feel  that  certain  individual  words 
stung  him  like  gnats.  His  face  grew  more  serious,  he  bowed 
his  head,  and  maintained  a  surly  silence.  But  the  gnats 
came  thicker  and  thicker    .    .    . 

"  You  used  pretty  strong  language!  '*  he  said  at  last, 
much  taken  aback  and  displeased  .  .  "  You  certainly  will 
not  win  God's  favor,  simply  because  you  know  how  to  de- 
fame a  man    .    .    ." 

"Shut  up!  Wait  a  bit!"  snapped  Ezhoff  curtly,  and 
continued  his  reading. 

Having  established  in  his  article  the  fact  that  the  mer- 
, chant,  in  the  matter  of  indecent  behavior  and  the  creation 
of  scandals  is,  indubitably,  the  superior  of  the  other  social 
classes,  Ezhoff  inquired:    "  Why  is  this  so?  "  and  replied: 

"  It  seems  to  me,  that  this  tendency  towards  brutal  pranks 
tarises  from  a  lack  of  culture,  to  the  extent  to  which  it  is 
^dependent  upon  excess  of  energy,  and  upon  lack  of  em- 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ployment.  There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  fact,  that  our 
merchant  class, — with  few  exceptions — is  the  richest  in 
health,  and,  at  the  same  time,  is  the  class  which  performs/ 
the  least  work    .    ." 

"  That's  true! "  exclaimed  Foma,  banging  his  fist  upon 
the  table. — "That's  so!    I  have  the  strength  of  a  bull, — 

•  and  work  enough  for  a  sparrow." 

"  What  is  the  merchant  to  do  with  his  energy?  Not  much 
of  it  is  expended  on  'Change,  and  so  he  squanders  the  sur- 
plus of  his  muscular  capital  in  pot-houses  on  debauches, 
because  he  has  no  conception  of  other,  more  productive  and 
valuable  points. where  his  forces  can  be  applied  to  life.  He 
is  still  a  wild  beast,  and  life  has  already  become  for  him  a 
cage,  and  he  finds  himself  hampered  in  it  in  view  of  his 
fine  health  and  his  inclination  for  expansive  flourishes.  Em- 
barrassed by  culture,  the  first  thing  you  know,  he  starts  on 
a  career  of  debauchery.  A  debauch  in  the  merchant  class  is 
always  the  mutiny  of  a  captive  wild  beast.  Of  course,  this 
is  bad  enough.  But,  ah!  it  will  be  still  worse  when  thisj 
wild  beast  shall  have  added  to  his  strength  a  little  brains,! 
and  shall  have  disciplined  it!  Believe  me — ^when  that  time 
,  comes,  he  will  never  cease  to  create  scandals,  but  then  they  ^ 

•  will  become  historical  events.    From  such  events,  0  God, 
deliver  us!     For  they  arise  from  the  striving  of  the  mer-^ 
chant  after  power,  their  object  will  be  the  omnipotence  of 
one  social  class,  and — the  merchant  will  not  be  particular! 
as  to  the  means  for  the  attainment  of  this  object    .    .    ." 

"  "Well,  what  have  you  to  say — is  it  true?  "  asked  Ezhoff, 
when  he  had  finished  the  paper  and  flung  it  aside. 

"  I  don't  understand  the  end  of  it,      .    ."  replied  Foma. 
"But  what  you  say  about  strength  is  true!    How  shall  !( 
employ  my  strength,  if  there  is  no  demand  for  it?     We 
ought  to  fight  brigands,  or  turn  brigands  ourselves — so  that, 

327 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

generally  speaking,  we  might  do  something — very  big  in- 
deed.    And  it  ought  not  to  be  with  our  heads,  but  with 
our  arms,  and  breasts    .    .    But — to  go  to  the  Exchange, 
and  use  every  means  to  acquire  a  ruble    .    .    .    And  of  what 
use  is  the  ruble?    And,  again,  what  is  it,  anyway?    Is  life 
/always  arranged  in  that  shape?    What  is  life  like,  if  every- 
tbody  is  grieving  his  heart  out,  and  if  everyone  finds  it 
1  oppressive  ?    It  ought  to  be  according  to  people's  taste,  life 
ought    .    .    It  hampers  me — consequently,  I  am  bound  to 
Uhrust  it  apart,  in  order  that  I  may  be  more  at  liberty    .    . 
'  That  is  to  say,  it  ought  to  be  broken  up  and  re-arranged, 
.    .     .    But  how?    That's  exactly  what  bothers  me!    .    .    . 
What  ought  I  to  do,  in  order  to  live  with  more  freedom?    I 
don't  understand, — and  that's  the  end  of  me!  " 

"We-ell  no-ow!"  drawled  Ezhoff.— "  So  that's  where 
you've  got  to!  It's  a  good  thing,  my  dear  fellow!  Akh,  I'd 
like  to  give  you  a  little  lesson!  What  do  you  think  about 
books?    Do  you  read  any?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  like  them — I  have  not  read  anything    .    /* 
"  You  don't  like  them,  simply  because  you  haven't  read 
them    .    .    ." 

**  I'm  actually  afraid  to  read  .  .  I  have  seen — there's 
one  woman — it's  worse  than  tippling  with  her!  And  what 
sense  is  there  in  books?  One  man  imagines  something  and 
prints  it,  and  other  men  read  it  .  .  If  you're  curious, 
that's  all  right  .  .  .  But,  learn  from  books  how  to  live— 
;that's  impossible.  For  man  has  written  them,  not  God, 
/and  what  laws  and  examples  can  a  man  establish  for  him- 
'self?" 

"  How  about  the  Gospels?   Men  wrote  them  also." 
"  They  were  apostles    .    .    Now  there  are  none    .    ." 
"  I  must  admit  that  you  answer  pertinently!    'Tis  true, 
my  dear  fellow,  that  there  are  no  apostles    .    .    .    Nothing 

328 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

but  Judases  are  left,  and  miserable  little  specimens  at 
that! '' 

Foma  felt  delighted  with  himself,  for  he  saw  that  Ezhoff 
was  listening  attentively  to  his  remarks,  and  seemed  to  be 
weighing  every  word  which  he  uttered.  This  being  the 
first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  met  with  such  treatment,. 
Foma  poured  forth  his  ideas  boldly  and  freely  before  his'j 
companion,  paying  no  heed  to  the  words,  and  feeling  thatj 
he  was  being  understood,  because  an  effort  was  being  made?' 
to  understand  him. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  curious  young  fellow! "  Ezhoff  said  to 
him,  a  couple  of  days  after  their  meeting  .  .  "  And,  al- 
though you  speak  with  difficulty,  one  feels  that  you've  got 
a  lot  in  you, — great  boldness  of  heart!  If  you  only  had 
a  little  knowledge  of  the  formalities  of  life!  Then  you 
would  begin  to  talk  loudly  enough,  I  think  .  .  yes,  you 
would! " 

"  Nevertheless,  you  cannot  cleanse  yourself — you  cannot  / 
liberate  yourself  with  words,'*  .  .  remarked  Foma  with 
a  sigh. — "  Now,  you  said  something  about  people  who  pre- 
tend that  they  know  everything  and  can  do  everything  .  . 
I,  also,  know  some  of  that  sort  .  .  My  god-father,  for 
example  .  .  Somebody  ought  to  set  out  and  show  them 
up    .    .    They're  a  pretty  mischievous  sort  of  people    .    ." 

"  I  can't  imagine,  Foma,  how  you  are  going  to  live,  if  youj 
retain  within  you  that  which  you  are  carrying  now  .  ."' 
said  Ezhoff  thoughtfully. 

"  Things  are  difficult  for  me  .  .  I  have  no  stability 
.  .  I  could  do  anything  off-hand  ...  I  understand  very 
well,  that  all  people  find  things  difficult  and  oppressive 
.  .  .  and  that  my  god-father  sees  that  too, — I  know!  But 
he  makes  profits  by  his  hampered  state.  It  suits  him!  he's 
as  sharp  as  a  needle,  and  he'll  make  his  way  wherever  he 

329 


Foma  Gordyeeff 


chooses  .  .  But  Fm  a  big,  heavy  man — and  so  I  feel 
suffocated!  That's  why  I  live  in  fetters  .  .  And  there's 
only  one  way  for  me  to  break  loose  from  all — to  make  a 
good,  strong  movement  with  my  whole  body,  and  then  all 
bonds  will  burst  at  once!  " 

"  And  what  comes  next?  "  asked  Ezhoff. 

"  What  comes  next?  " — Foma  reflected,  and  on  reflection, 
waved  his  hand. — "I  don't  know  what  comes  next — we 
shall  see!  '^ 

"  We  shall  see!  "  assented  Ezhoff. 

This  little  man,  who  had  been  scalded  by  life,  was  given 
to  drink.  His  day  began  thus:  After  tea  in  the  morning, 
he  glanced  through  the  local  newspapers,  and  extracted 
from  their  reporter's  comments  material  for  his  feuilleton, 
which  he  immediately  composed,  on  the  corner  of  his  table. 
Then  he  ran  to  the  newspaper  office,  and  there  cut  up  the 
country  newspapers,  constituting  from  these  clippings 
"  Provincial  Sketches."  On  Friday,  he  had  to  write  his 
Sunday  feuilleton.  For  all  this,  he  was  paid  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  rubles  a  month;  he  worked  quickly,  and 
devoted  all  his  spare  time  to  "  the  survey  and  study  of  pious 
institutions."  In  company  with  Foma,  he  roved  about  until 
the  dead  of  night  among  the  clubs,  hotels,  and  eating- 
houses,  everywhere  collecting  material  for  his  writings, 
which  he  called,  "  brushes  for  cleaning  the  public  con- 
science." He  called  the  censor,  "  the  controller  of  the  dis- 
semination in  life  of  truth  and  justice,"  his  paper  he  called, 
"a  go-between,  engaged  in  introducing  the  reader  to  in- 
jurious ideas,"  and  his  own  work  on  it — "  the  sale  of  a  soul 
at  retail,"  and  "  a  tendency  to  audacity  against  divine  insti- 
tutions." 

Foma  did  not  understand  exactly  when  Ezhoff  was  jok- 
ing and  when  he  was  speaking  seriously — ^he  discussed 

330 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

everything  hotly  and  passionately,  he  condemned  every- 
thing harshly,  and  that  pleased  Foma.  But  often,  after  be- 
ginning a  harangue  with  passion,  he  contradicted  himself 
with  equal  passion,  and  refuted  himself,  or  wound  up  with 
some  ridiculous  freak.  On  such  occasions,  it  seemed  to 
Foma  that  this  man  had  about  him  nothing  that  he  could 
love,  and  would  take  a  deep  root  in  him,  and  guide  him. 
Only  concerning  himself  did  he  talk  in  a  rather  peculiar 
voice,  and  the  more  hotly  he  spoke  of  himself,  the  more 
mercilessly  and  malignantly  did  he  revile  everybody  and 
everything.  And  his  relation  to  Foma  was  two-fold — some- 
times he  encouraged  him,  and  said  to  him,  kindling  and 
trembling  all  over: 

"  Go  ahead!    Eefute  and  overthrow  everything  you  can! 
Push  forward,  with  all  your  might!    You  must  know,  that  J 
nothing  is  more  precious  than  a  man!    Shout  at  the  top  of 
your  voice:    Freedom!    Freedom!'^ 

And  when  Foma,  taking  fire  from  the  blazing  sparks  of 
his  speech,  began  to  dream  of  how  he  should  begin  to  refute 
and  overthrow  people,  who,  for  the  sake  of  their  own  profit, 
? refuse  to  enlarge  life, — Ezhoff  often  cut  him  short: 

*^Drop  it!  You  can  do  nothing!  Such  as  you  are  not 
needed  .  .  .  Your  age — the  age  of  the  powerful,  but 
not  clever,  has  gone  by,  my  dear  fellow!  You  are  belated 
.    .    There's  no  place  for  you  in  life    .    .    ." 

"No?  You  lie!''  shouted  Foma,  excited  by  contradic- 
tion. 

"  Well,  what  can  you  do?  " 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  you?  " 

"  Why  .  .  I  can  kill  you!  "  said  Foma  wickedly,  clench- 
ing his  fist. 

"Eh,  what  a  blockhead!"  ejaculated  Ezhoff  with  con- 

331 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

viction  and  compassion,  shrugging  his  shoulders. — "  Is  that 
a  business?    I'm  already  half  crippled  to  death.    .    .    ." 

And,  suddenly  blazing  up  with  melancholy  wrath,  he 
twitched  all  over,  and  said: 

"  My  fate  has  wronged  me! — ^Why  have  I  humbled  my- 
self, accepting  the  sops  of  the  public?  Why  have  I  toiled 
for  twelve  consecutive  years?  In  order  to  learn  .  .  Why 
did  I,  for  twelve  years  in  succession,  without  a  rest,  swallow 
down  in  the  gymnasium  and  the  university  dry  and  tire- 
some nastiness.  which  was  of  no  use  to  me,  and  was  only 
revolting  nonsense?  In  order  to  become  a  feuilletonist,  iu 
order  that  I  might  play  the  clown,  day  after  day,  amusing 
the  public,  and  persuading  myself  that  I  am  necessary,  use- 
ful to  it?  .  .  Where  is  the  powder  of  my  youth?  I  have 
fired  o2  the  whole  charge  of  my  soul  at  three  kopeks  a  shot 
.  ,  What  faith  have  I  won  for  myself?  Only  the  belief 
(that  everything  in  this  life  is  of  no  use  even  to  the  devil, 
that  everything  ought  to  be  broken  up,  pulled  down  .  .  . 
What  do  I  love?  Myself  .  .  and  I  am  conscious  that  the 
object  of  my  love  is  not  worthy  of  my  love  .  .  What  can 
I  do?" 

He  almost  wept,  and  kept  scratching  his  breast  and  neck 
with  his  thin,  weak  hands. 

But  sometimes  a  flood  of  courage  took  possession  of  him, 
and  he  talked  in  a  different  spirit: 

"  I ?  No,  my  song  is  not  yet  sung  to  the  end!  When  I  get 
my  chest  well  inflated — I'll  hiss  like  a  scourge!  Wait  a  bit. 
I'll  abandon  the  newspaper,  I'll  take  to  serious  work  and  write 
one  little  book  .  .  .  I'll  call  it—'  The  Book  of  the  De- 
parting Soul ';  there  is  a  prayer  by  that  title — it  is  read 
over  the  dying.  And  this  society,  cursed  with  the  curse  of 
inward  impotency  before  it  expires,  will  receive  my  book 
like  musk." 

333 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Foma,  by  dint  of  listening  to  his  every  word,  watching 
him,  and  comparing  his  utterances,  perceived  that  Ezhoff* 
was  the  same  sort  of  weak,  erring  man  as  himself.  But 
Ezhoff's  mood  still  continued  to  infect  Foma,  his  harangues 
enriched  Foma's  tongue,  and,  occasionally,  to  his  joyful  sur- 
prise, the  latter  observed  how  adroitly  and  forcefully  he  had 
himself  expressed  this  or  that  idea. 

He  frequently  encountered  at  Ezhoff's  certain  peculiar 
people  who,  so  it  seemed  to  him,  knew  everything,  under-  , 
stood  everything,  and  contradicted  everything,  in  every- 
thing detected  deceit  and  fraud.  He  contemplated  them 
in  silence,  lent  an  ear  to  their  remarks;  their  boldness 
pleased  him,  but  he  was  repelled  by  some  supercilious,' 
haughty  element  in  their  demeanor  towards  him.  More- 
over, it  was  plainly  apparent  to  him,  that  all  the  people  in 
EzhoS's  room  were  better  and  more  clever  than  those  in  the 
street,  or  in  the  hotels.  They  had  special  discussions,  words, 
gestures  for  use  in  the  room,  and  all  these  gave  way,  out- 
side the  room,  to  the  most  commonplace  and  human  .  . 
Sometimes,  in  the  room,  they  all  blazed  like  a  huge  bonfire, 
and  Ezhoff  was  the  most  glowing  firebrand  among  them, 
but  the  light  of  this  bonfire  only  dimly  illuminated  the 
gloom  of  Foma  Gordyeeff^s  soul. 

One  day  Ezhoff  said  to  him: 

"  Today  we  will  go  on  a  spree!  Our  compositors  have 
formed  a  union,  and  are  going  to  take  all  their  work  from 
the  publisher  on  a  friendly  contract  .  .  There  is  to  be  a 
celebration  of  this,  with  a  wetting  down,  and  I'm  invited 
...  it  was  I  who  advised  them  to  do  it  .  .  .  Shall  we 
go?    .    .    You  can  give  them  a  good  treat    .    .    ." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  Foma,  to  whom  it  was  a  matter  of  in- 
difference with  whom  he  spent  the  time  which  hung  so 
heavily  on  his  hands. 

333 


Foma  Gordydeff 

On  the  evening  of  that  day,  Fomd  and  Ezhoff  found 
themselves  sitting  with  smudgy  faces,  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
grove,  outside  the  town.  There  were  twelve  compositors; 
they  were  neatly  clad,  and  treated  Ezhoff  simply,  as  a  com- 
rade; and  this  somewhat  surprised  and  abashed  Foma,  in 
whose  eyes  Ezhoff  was  still  something  in  the  nature  of  a 
master  or  superior  over  them,  while  all  of  them  were — his 
servants.  They  did  not  appear  to  notice  Gordyeeff,  although, 
when  Ezhoff  introduced  him  to  them,  they  all  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  said  they  were  glad  to  see  him  .  .  He  lay 
down  apart  under  a  hazel-bush,  and  watched  them  all,  feel- 
ing that  he  was  an  outsider  in  this  company,  and  perceiving 
that  Ezhoff  seemed,  with  deliberate  intention,  to  have  got 
as  far  away  from  him  as  possible,  and  was  paying  very  little 
attention  to  him.  He  observed  something  strange  about 
Ezhoff:  the  little  feuilleton- writer  appeared  to  conform 
himself  to  the  tone  and  speech  of  the  compositors.  In  com- 
pany with  them,  he  bustled  about  the  fire,  uncorked  bottles 
of  beer,  chaffed  them,  laughed  loudly,  and  endeavored,  in 
every  way,  to  resemble  them.  Moreover,  he  was  more  sim- 
ply dressed  than  usual. 

"  Ekh,  comrades! ''  he  exclaimed  dashingly  .  .  "  I'm 
at  my  ease  with  you!  You  know,  I'm  of  no  great  account, 
either — nothing  but  the  son  of  the  janitor  at  the  judicial 
building,  non-commissioned  officer  Matvyei  Ezhoff!  " 

"What's  he  saying  that  for?"  thought  Foma.     "What 
difference  does  it  make  whose  son  he  is — I  suppose  a  man 
'is  respected  for  his  brain,  not  on  account  of  his  father." 

The  sun  set,  and  in  the  sky  floated  a  huge,  fiery  bonfire, 
dyeing  the  clouds  with  hues  of  gold  and  blood.  The  forest 
breathed  forth  a  damp  odor,  and  tranquillity,  but  on  its 
edge,  the  dark  figures  of  men  bustled  to  and  fro.  One  of 
them,  short  of  stature  and  lean  of  form,  in  a  broad-brimmed 

S34 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

straw  hat,  began  to  play  the  accordion,  another,  with  a  black 
mustache  and  his  cap  tipped  on  the  back  of  his  head,  sang 
an  accompaniment  in  an  undertone.  Two  others  were  tug- 
ging at  a  walking-stick,  in  a  trial  of  strength.  Several 
figures  busied  themselves  with  the  baskets  containing  beer 
and  provisions;  a  tall  man  with  an  iron-gray  beard,  flung 
branches  on  the  fire,  which  was  enveloped  in  a  heavy,  whit- 
ish smoke.  The  green  branches,  as  they  fell  upon  the  fire, 
squeaked  and  snapped,  but  the  accordion  teasingly  rattled 
off  a  merry  tune,  and  the  falsetto  of  the  singer  reinforced 
and  completed  its  dashing  performance. 

Apart  from  them  all,  on  the  brink  of  a  small  excavation, 
lay  three  young  fellows,  and  in  front  of  them  stood  Ezhoff, 
saying,  in  ringing  tones: 

"  You  bear  the  sacred  banner  of  labor  .  .  and  I,  like 
yourselves,  am  a  common  soldier  in  the  same  army,  we  are 
all  in  the  service  of  His  Majesty,  the  Press  .  .  and  must 
live  in  firm,  stable  friendship    .    ." 

"  That's  true,  Nikolai  Matvyeevitch! "  some  one's  thick 
voice  interrupted  his  harangue. — "  And  we  want  to  ask  you 
to  work  upon  the  publisher!  Use  your  influence  on  him! 
Illness  and  drunkenness  cannot  be  treated  in  exactly  the 
same  manner.  But,  according  to  his  system,  this  is  the  way 
it  comes  out:  if  one  of  the  fellows  gets  drunk,  we  pay  a 
fine  to  the  amount  of  his  daily  earnings,  if  he  falls  ill,  we 
do  the  same  .  .^  In  case  of  illness,  we  ought  to  be  allowed 
to  present  a  doctor's  certificate  .  .  as  a  guarantee,  and  he, 
in  justice,  ought  to  pay  the  substitute  one  half  of  the  sick 
man's  wages  .  .  Otherwise,  it  would  come  pretty  hard  for 
us,  in  case  three  were  taken  ill  at  once  ?  " 

*  This  is  the  system  of  the  famous  Russian  artel  or  guild,  such  as 
these  men  had  formed.  The  employer  is  guaranteed  from  loss  through 
such  circumstances  as  those  mentioned,  dishonesty,  and  so  forth. — 
Translator. 

335 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  We-ell,  of  course,  that  is  reasonable,"  assented  Ezhoff. 
— "  But,  my  friends, — the  principle  of  co-operation    .     ." 

Foma  ceased  to  listen  to  his  comrade's  speech,  his  atten- 
tion being  diverted  by  another  discussion.  Two  men  were 
engaged  in  it:  one,  a  tall,  consumptive,  badly-dressed, 
angry-looking  man,  the  other  a  youngish  man,  with  golden- 
brown  hair  and  beard. 

"  In  my  opinion,"  said  the  tall  man  sullenly,  with  an  oc- 
casional cough,  "that's  stupid!  How  can  men  like  us 
marry?  There  will  be  children — and  will  there  be  enough 
to  support  them?  The  wife  must  be  clothed  .  .  and 
what  sort  of  a  wife  can  a  man  get,  moreover?  " 

"  She's  a  splendid  girl,"  said  the  brown-haired  man  softly. 

"  Well,  she's  nice  now  .  .  A  betrothed  girl  is  one 
thing — a  wife  is  quite  another  .  .  .  But  that's  not  the 
main  point,  either  .  .  .  you  can  make  the  trial — per- 
haps she  actually  will  turn  out  nice.  Only — your  means 
won't  suffice  .  .  .  you'll  break  your  own  back  with  work, 
and  you^ll  wear  her  out  too. — Marriage  is  an  utterly  im- 
possible thing  for  us  .  .  Can  we  rear  a  family  on  such 
wages?  Here,  you  see,  .  .  .  I've  been  married  these 
four  years,  .  .  and  my  end  is  near.  And  I  have  seen  no 
happiness    .    .    nothing  but  anxiety  and  toil    .    ." 

He  began  to  cough,  coughed  for  a  long  time,  with  a  groan, 
and  when  he  ceased,  he  said  to  his  companion,  with  a  sigh: 

"  Drop  it — nothing  will  come  of  it." 

The  latter  dropped  his  head  mournfully,  and  Foma  said 
to  himself: 

"He  talks  sensibly  .  .  it's  evident,  one  can  under- 
stand   .    ." 

The  lack  of  attention  shown  to  him  somewhat  offended 
him,  and,  at  the  same  time,  it  aroused  in  him  a  sentiment  of 
respect  for  these  men  with  dark  faces  impregnated  with  lead/ 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Almost  all  of  them  were  carrying  on  practical,  serious  con- 
versations, and  certain  peculiar  words  flashed  through  their 
speech.  Not  one  of  them  tried  to  ingratiate  himself  with. 
Foma,  or  approached  him  with  the  importunities  to  which 
he  had  become  accustomed  in  his  tavern  acquaintances,  his 
companions  in  revelry.    This  pleased  him    .    . 

"  What  fine  fellows  they  are,'^  he  said  to  himself,  with  an 
inward  smile    .     .    "  they  have  a  pride  of  their  own." 

"  But,  Nikolai  Matvyeevitch,"  rang  out  a  voice,  appar- 
ently with  a  touch  of  reproach  in  it, — "  you  musn't  judge 
from  books,  but  according  to  the  living  truth  .  .  .  People 
toil  for  a  bit  of  bread,  you  know,  not  according  to  any  little 
book,  but  through  necessity,  and  as  God  puts  it  into  the  soul 
to  do,  and  not  as  is  written  down  in  your  rules    .    ." 

"  Per-mit  me,  my  friends!  What  does  the  experience  of 
our  colleagues  prove    .      .    ." 

Foma  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  where  Ezhoff,  who 
had  removed  his  hat,  and  was  flourishing  it  above  his  head, 
was  holding  forth.  But,  at  that  moment,  some  one  said  to 
him: 

"  Move  up  closer  to  us,  Mr.  Gordyeeff!  " 

In  front  of  him  stood  a  short,  squat  young  fellow,  in  a 
blouse  and  tall  boots,  looking  into  his  face  with  a  good- 
natured  smile.  Foma  liked  the  look  of  his  broad,  round  face, 
with  its  thick  nose,  and  returning  the  smile,  he  replied: 

"  I'll  come  closer  .  .  But  isn't  it  time  for  us  to  get 
nearer  to  the  brandy?  I  brought  about  ten  bottles  with 
me — on  the  chance    .    .    ." 

'^  Oho! — Evidently,  you're  a  real  merchant  ...  I  will 
immediately  communicate  your  diplomatic  note  to  the  com- 
pany   .    ." 

And  he  himself  was  the  first  to  give  vent  to  a  loud,  merry 
laugh,  at  his  own  words.     And  Foma  laughed  also,  con- 

337 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

scious  that  a  breath  of  merriment  and  warmth  was  being 
wafted  to  him,  either  from  the  fire  or  from  the  young  man. 

The  sunset  glow  softly  died  away.  It  seemed  as  though 
yonder,  in  the  west,  a  huge,  soft,  purple  curtain  were  being 
lowered  to  the  earth,  uncovering  the  bottomless  depths  of 
the  heavens,  and  the  cheerful  gleam  of  the  stars,  which 
twinkled  in  it.  Far  away,  an  invisible  hand  sprinkled  lights 
over  the  dark  mass  of  the  town,  and  here,  in  silent  com- 
posure, stood  the  forest,  rising  toward  heaven  like  a  black 
wall  .  .  .  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen,  and  warm  dark- 
ness lay  over  the  fields.  ~^    w 

The  whole  party  seated  th^moclves  in  a  huge  circle,  not 
far  from  the  fire :  Foma  sat  next  to  Ezhoff,  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  and  beheld  in  front  of  him,  a  row  of  brightly  il- 
luminated, merry,  simple  countenances.  All  were  stimu- 
lated by  liquor,  but  were  not  yet  intoxicated;  they  laughed, 
joked,  tried  to  sing,  and  drank,  nibbhng  at  cucumbers, 
bread  and  sausages  the  while.  All  this  had  for  Foma  a  cer- 
tain peculiar,  agreeable  fiavor;  he  grew  bolder,  infected 
with  the  general  delightful  mood,  and  became  conscious  of 
a  desire  to  say  something  nice  to  these  men,  to  please  them 
all,  in  some  way.  Ezhoff,  as  he  sat  beside  him,  wriggled 
about  on  the  ground,  jostled  him  with  his  shoulder,  and 
muttered  something  to  himself,  shaking  his  head  the  while. 

"Brethren!"  shouted  the  corpulent  young  fellow.-^ 
"  Let's  strike  up  a  student  song   .    .    now,  one,  two!    .    . 

*'  Swift,  a-as  the  wa-aves.     .     .    " 

Some  one  droned  in  a  bass  voice: 

*'  0-o-our  da-a-ays.     .     .'* 

"  Comrades!  '^  said  Ezhoff,  rising  to  his  feet,  glass  in 
hand.    He  staggered,  and  propped  himself  with  his  other 

338 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

hand  on  Foma's  head.  The  song  which  had  just  heen 
begun,  was  broken  off,  and  all  turned  their  heads  toward 
him.  * 

"  Workingmen!  Permit  me  to  say  a  few  words  to  you 
.  .  .  words  from  the  heart  .  .  I  am  happy  with  you!  I 
feel  at  my  ease  among  you  .  .  That  is  because  you  are 
men  of  toil,  as  to  whose  right  to  happiness  there  is  no  doubt 
whatever,  although  it  is  not  acknowledged.  In  your  healthy, 
soul-stimulating  society,  my  honest  men,  the  lonely  man, 
whom  life  is  hounding,  breathes  so  well,  so  freely    .    .    ." 

Ezhoff's  voice  trembled,  jingled,  and  his  head  began  to 
shake.  Foma  felt  something  warm  trickle  across  his  hand, 
and  glanced  at  the  contracted  countenance  of  Ezhoff,  who 
resumed  his  harangue,  quivering  all  over: 

"  I — am  not  the  only  one  .  .  there  are  many  like  me, 
persecuted  by  Fate,  smitten  down,  aiHng  .  .  We  are  more 
unfortunate  than  you,  because  we  are  weaker  in  body,  and 
in  soul,  but  we  are  stronger  than  you,  because  we  are  armed 
with  knowledge  .  .  .  which  we  have  no  chance  to  apply 
.  .  .  We  are  all  ready  and  glad  to  come  to  you,  and  toj 
give  ourselves  to  you,  and  help  you  to  live  .  .  there  is 
nothing  else  for  us  to  do!  Without  you,  we  have  no  ground' 
under  foot,  without  us,  you  have  no  light!  Comrades!  We 
were  created  by  Fate  itself  to  complete  each  other!  " 

"What  is  he  asking  from  them?"  thought  Foma,  as  he 
listened  in  amazement  to  Ezhoff's  speech.  And,  casting  a 
glance  around  him  at  the  compositors,  he  perceived  that 
they  also  were  gazing  at  the  orator  in  an  inquiring,  astound- 
ed, bored  manner. 

"  The  future  is  yours,  my  friends!  " — said  Ezhoff,  shak- 
ing his  head  unsteadily  and  sadly,  as  though  out  of  com- 
passion for  the  future,  and,  against  his  will,  resigning  the 
power  over  it  to  these  men. — "  The  future  belongs  to  the 

339 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

men  of  honest  toil  .  .  Yon  have  a  great  work  before  yon? 
You  mnst  create  a  new  culture  .  .  everything  free,  vital 
and  clear!  I,  who  am  one  of  you  in  flesh  and  spirit,  a  sol- 
dier's son,  propose  a  toast:  Let  us  drink  to  your  future! 
Hur-rah-rah! " 

Ezhoff,  taking  a  sip  from  his  glass,  dropped  heavily  to 
the  ground.  The  compositors  unanimously  took  up  his 
broken  exclamation,  and  a  mighty,  thunderous  shout  rolled 
through  the  air,  making  the  very  leaves  on  the  trees  to 
shake. 

"  Now  for  a  song! "  the  corpulent  young  man  offered  a 
second  suggestion. 

"  Go  ahead! "  chimed  in  two  or  three  voices.  A  noisy 
dispute  ensued  as  to  what  should  be  sung.  Ezhoff  listened 
to  the  uproar,  and,  turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  he 
scrutinized  them  all. 

"Brothers!"  he  suddenly  shouted. — "Answer  me  .  . 
say  a  few  words  in  reply  to  my  speech  of  welcome." 

Again — though  not  all  at  once,  all  became  silent,  and 
stared  at  him,  some  with  curiosity,  others  dissimulating  a 
grin,  several  with  dissatisfaction  plainly  expressed  on  their 
faces.    But  he  rose  again  to  his  feet,  and  said  excitedly: 

"  Here  are  two  of  us  .  .  .  outcasts  from  life, — I,  and 
this  man  here  .  .  .  We  both  want  .  .  .  one  and  the 
same  thing  .  .  regard  for  man  .  .  the  happiness  of 
feeling  that  we  are  useful  persons  .  .  .  Comrades!  This 
big,  stupid  man  also    .     .    ." 

"  Don't  insult  your  guest,  Nikolai  Matvyeevitch! "  rang 
out  a  thick,  displeased  voice. 

"  Yes,  that's  no  good! "  chimed  in  the  corpulent  young 
man,  who  had  invited  Foma  to  the  fire. — "  Why  say  insult- 
ing words?  " 

A  third  voice  remarked  loudly  and  distinctly: 

340 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  We  assembled  together  to  have  a  good  time  .  .  to 
rest    .    .    ," 

"Blockheads!"  laughed  Ezhoff  feebly  .  .  "Amiable 
blockheads!  .  .  Are  you  sorry  for  him?  But  do  you 
know  who  he  is?  He's  one  of  the  men  who  suck  your 
blood   ..." 

"  Stop  that,  Nikolai  Matvyeevitch! "  the  men  shouted  at 
Ezhoff.  And  they  began  to  talk  with  a  humming  drone, 
pa}ing  no  further  attention  to  him.  Foma  was  so  sorry  for 
his  chum  that  he  did  not  even  take  offence.  He  saw  that 
the  men  who  had  defended  him  from  Ezhoff's  attacks  were 
now  deliberately  refraining  from  taking  any  notice  of  the 
feuilleton-writer,  and  understood  that  if  Ezhoff  were  to 
perceive  this  he  would  feel  pained.  And,  with  the  object 
of  getting  his  companion  out  of  the  way  of  possible  un- 
pleasantness, he  nudged  him  in  the  ribs,  and  said,  with  a 
good-natured  laugh: 

""Well,  you  reviler  .  .  .  shall  we  have  a  drink?  Or, 
perhaps  it  is  time  to  go  home  ?  " 

"  Home  ?  Where  is  the  home  of  a  man  who  has  no  place 
among  men?"  asked  Ezhoff,  and  again  began  to  shout: — 
"  Comrades! " 

His  shout  was  drowned  in  the  universal  murmur,  and 
remained  without  response.  Then  he  hung  his  head,  and 
said  to  Foma: 

"  Let's  get  away  from  here!  " 

"  Come  along,  then  .  .  Though  I'd  like  to  sit  a  little 
longer  .  .  It's  curious  .  .  Those  devils  behave  them- 
selves like  well-born  gentlemen    .    .    they  do,  by  God!  " 

"  I  can't  stand  any  more:    I  feel  chilled,  suffocated    .    ." 

"  Well,  come  on!  " 

Foma  rose  to  his  feet,  pulled  off  his  cap,  and  making  a 
bow  to  the  compositors,  he  said  loudly  and  cheerily: 

341 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

.  "  Thanks  for  your  hospitality,  gentlemen!    Good-bye!  '* 

They  immediately  flocked  round  him,  and  persuasive 
voices  made  themselves  heard: 

"  Stay  a  little  longer!  Why  must  you  go  ?  We  might  all 
sing,  hey?'' 

"  No,  I  must  go  .  .  it  would  be  awkward  for  my  com- 
rade alone  .  .  I  am  going  to  escort  him.  I  wish  you  a 
jolly  carouse! " 

"  Ekh,  you  ought  to  stay! "  exclaimed  the  fat  young 
man,  and  added  in  a  low  whisper:  "  he  can  get  home 
alone    .    ." 

The  consumptive  man  also  said  in  an  undertone: 

"Do  you  stay  .  .  .  We'll  escort  him  to  town,  and 
there  we'll  put  him  in  a  drozhky — and  done  with!  " 

Foma  would  have  liked  to  remain,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
was  afraid  of  something.  But  Ezhoif  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
clutching  hold  of  his  coat-sleeve,  muttered: 

"Le-et's  go    .    .    devil  take  them!  " 

"Until  we  meet  again,  gentlemen!  I'm  going,"  said 
Foma,  and  took  his  departure,  accompanied  by  exclamations 
of  polite  regret. 

"  Ha-ha-ha! "  laughed  Ezhoff,  when  he  had  got  about 
twenty  paces  from  the  fire. — "They  bid  us  farewell  with 
grief,  but  they  are  glad  I  am  gone  .  .  I  prevented  their 
turning  themselves  into  beasts." 

"  You  did,  that's  so  .  ."  said  Foma.—"  Why  do  you 
fling  your  harangues  around?  The  men  met  together  to 
enjoy  themselves,  but  you  nag  them  .  .  It  bores 
them    .    ." 

"  Shut  up!  You  don't  understand  anything  about  it!  " 
shouted  Ezhoff  sharply. — "You  think  I  am  drunk?  It's 
my  body  that  is  drunk  .  .  but  my  soul  is  sober  .  .  it's 
always  sober,  and  always  has  its  feelings    .    .    0,  how  much 

342 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

there  is  in  the  world  that  is  hideous,  obtuse  and  pitiful! 
And  men — stupid,  unhappy  men    .    .    /' 

Ezhoff  halted,  and  seizing  his  head  in  his  hands,  stood 
still  for  a  minute,  reeling  on  his  legs. 

"We-ell,  ye-es! '^  said  Foma  slowly. — "They  are  very 
unlike  each  other   .    .    Now  there  are  these  men    .    .    They 
are  polite    .    .    .    Gentlemen,  in  their  way    .    .    And  they 
reason  correctly    .    .    and  all  that  sort  of  thing.    They  have' 
€ense    .    .    .    Yet — they  are  only  workingmen.^' 

In  the  darkness  behind  them,  the  men  struck  up  a  power- 
ful choral  song.  Discordant,  at  first,  it  kept  swelling  and 
swelling,  and  now  it  poured  out  in  a  broad,  cheery  wave 
of  sound  upon  the  cool  night  air  above  the  deserted 
meadow. 

"  0,  my  God!  '^  said  Ezhoff  softly  and  sadly,  with  a  sigh. 
**  How  is  a  man  to  live  ?  To  what  shall  his  soul  cling  ?  Who 
shall  slake  his  thirst  for  friendship,  brotherhood,  love,  pure 
and  holy  toil?    .    .    ." 

"  These  are  simple,  individual  men,"  said  Foma  slowly 
and  meditatively,  paying  no  heed  to  his  companion's  re- 
marks, engrossed  as  he  was  in  his  own  thoughts, — "  if  you 
take  a  good  look  at  them,  there's  nothing  special  about 
them!  It's  really  very  .  .  It's  curious  .  .  .  Peasants 
.  .  workingmen  .  .  if  one  takes  them  as  simply  as  that, 
they're  just  the  same  as  horses.    They  carry  burdens    .    .    ." 

"  They  bear  all  our  life  on  their  humped  backs! "  criedl 
Ezhoff,  with  irritation  .  . — "  They  carry  it  like  horses — I 
submissively,  stupidly  .  .  And  that  submissiveness  orf 
theirs  is  our  misfortune,  our  curse    .    ." 

But  Foma,  carried  away  with  his  idea,  argued: 

"  They  bear  burdens,  they  toil  all  their  lives  for  a  mere 
trifle  .  .  And,  all  of  a  sudden,  they  say  something  that 
you'd  never  think  out  for  yourself  in  a  century    .    .    Evi- 

34a 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

dently,  they  have  feelings    .    .    .    We-ell,  ye-es,  their  com- 
pany is  interesting." 

Ezh6ff  staggered  along  for  some  time  in  silence  and,  all 
at  once,  in  a  queer  sort  of  dull,  hiccupping  voice,  which 
seemed  to  proceed  from  his  belly,  he  began  to  recite,  waving 
his  hand  in  the  air  the  while: 

"  Life  has  cruelly  deceived  me 
And  many  are  the  woes  I've  undergone    ,     •     ." 

"  I  made  those  verses,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  pausing, 
and  mournfully  shaking  his  head. — "  What  comes  next  ? 
Fve  forgotten  .  .  Something  is  said  about  tears  .  . 
about  pure  and  sacred  longings  .  .  .  they  are  stifled  in 
my  breast  by  the  foul  reek  of  life   .    .    .    E-e-ekh! 

"  Within  my  breast  there  ne'er  will  wake  again  » 
The  swarm  of  dreams  that  in  it  buried  lie     .     ." 

My  dear  fellow,  you  are  happier  than  I,  for  you  are  stupid  \ 
.    .    .    ButI    .    .    ." 

"  Stop  your  howling!  "  said  Foma  irritably. — "  Just  lis- 
ten how  they  are  singing." 

"  I  won^t  listen  to  other  people's  songs,"  said  Ezhoff,  with 
a  negative  shake  of  the  head  .  . — "  I  have  one  of  my  own 
— the  song  of  a  soul  exhausted  with  grief  by  life    .    .    ." 

And  he  began  to  yell,  in  a  savage  voice: 

"  Within  my  bre-east  there  ne'er  will  wa  a-ake  a-again 
The  swa-arm  of  dreams  that  in  it  bu-uried  lie    .     . 
There  are  many  of  them  there !  " 

"  There  was  a  whole  flower-garden  of  vivid,  brilliant 
dreams,  hopes    .    .    .    They  died    .     .    .    withered  and 

^  This  composition  has  a  certain  amount  of  rhyme  in  the  original, 
but  its  merit  does  not  make  an  attempt  at  a  rhymed  English  version 
worth  the  while. — Translator. 

344 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

died  .  .  .  Death  is  in  my  heart  .  .  .  The  corpses  of 
the  dreams  are  rotting  there    .    .    o-o!  " 

Ezhoff  began  to  weep,  sobbing  like  a  woman.  Foma  was 
sorry  for  him,  and  uncomfortable  with  him.  Giving  Ez- 
hoff^s  shoulder  an  impatient  jerk,  he  said: 

"  Stop  that!  Come  along  .  .  What  a  weak  creature  you 
are,  brother    .    .    ." 

Grasping  his  head  in  his  hands,  Ezhoff  straightened  up 
his  stooping  form,  and  again  broke  out  into  wild  and  mourn- 
ful song: 

"  There  are  many  of  them  there  1 
The  vault's  too  narrow  for  them  the-ere ! 
In  the  shrouds  of  rhyme  I  clo-othed  them    .     • 
And  about  them  many  ballads 
Sad  and  mournful  have  I  su-ung !  " 

"  0  Lord! ''  sighed  Foma  in  despair. — "  Stop  that  .  . 
For  Christ's  sake!  You  make  a  man  melancholy,  by  heaven 
you  do! " 

Athwart  the  gloom  and  silence,  the  rousing  choral  song 
was  wafted  to  them  from  afar.  Some  one  was  whistling  in 
time  with  the  refrain,  and  the  sharp  whistle,  which  pierced 
the  car,  outstripped  the  billow  of  powerful  voices.  Foma^ 
glanced  in  that  direction,  and  beheld  the  lofty  black  wall  of 
forest,  the  fiery  dot  of  the  fire  as  it  flickered  against  it,  and 
the  shadowy  figures  grouped  around  it.  The  wall  of  forest 
was  like  a  breast,  and  the  fire  was  like  a  bloody  wound  in  it  J 
It  seemed  as  though  the  breast  were  quivering,  trickling 
with  blood,  which  was  flowing  over  it  in  hot  streams.  En- 
circled by  thick  darkness  on  all  sides,  the  men  against  the 
background  of  the  forest  looked  like  little  children,  they, 
also,  appeared  to  be  in  a  blaze,  all  covered  as  they  were  with 
the  flame  of  the  fire,  and  they  were  flourishing  their  arms 
and  singing  their  song  loudly,  vigorously. 

345 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

But  Ezhoff,  as  lie  stood  beside  Foma,  said  rebelliously: 
"You  unfeeling  blockhead!  Why  do  you  repulse  me? 
You  ought  to  listen  to  the  song  of  a  dying  soul  .  .  and 
weep  over  it  .  .  .  for,  why  was  it  wounded,  why  is  it 
dying?  Begone  from  me  .  .  begone!  You  think  I^m 
drunk?    I'm  poisoned    .    .    take  yourself  off!  " 

Foma,  without  removing  his  eyes  from  the  forest  and 
the  fire  which  were  so  beautiful  in  the  darkness,  retreated 
a  few  steps  from  Ezhoff,  and  said  quietly  to  him: 

"  Don't  be  foolish    .    .    why  are  you  cursing  at  random?'' 
"  I  want  to  be  alone  and — finish  singing  my  song    .    ." 
He  also,  with  nervous  footsteps,  retreated  from  Fomd, 
and  a  few  seconds  later,  he  again  began  to  shout  in  a  wail- 
ing voice: 

"  My  song  is  done,  and  nevermore  will  I 
Disturb  their  sleep  of  death    .     .     . 
Lord !  give  rest  unto  my-y  so-oul ! 
Ill  be-eyond  ho-ope  it  li-ies     .     . 
Lord    .     .     give  rest  unto  my-y  so-oul    .     .     ." 

Foma  shivered  at  the  sounds  of  that  gloomy  howl,  and 

briskly  followed  Ezhoff;  but  before  he  could  overtake  him, 

the  little  feuilleton-writer  gave  vent  to  a  hysterical  shriek, 

^  flung  himself  face-down  upon  the  ground,  and  burst  out 

sobbing  piteously  and  softly,  as  ailing  children  cry    .    . 

"  Nikolai! "  said  Foma,  raising  him  up  by  his  shoulders 
.  .  "Stop  .  .  .  what's  the  meaning  of  this?  0  Lord! 
.    .    Nikolai!    Enough  of  that    .    .    aren't  you  ashamed! " 

But  Ezhoff  was  not  ashamed;  he  flopped  about  on  the 
ground  like  a  fish  just  pulled  out  of  the  water,  and  when 
Foma  lifted  him  to  his  feet,  he  pressed  close  to  the  latter's 
breast,  grasping  his  sides  with  his  thin  hands,  weeping  all 
the  while    .    . 

346 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"uome,  that'll  do!''  said  Foma  through  his  tightly 
clenched  teeth.    "  Have  done,  my  dear  man." 

And  agitated  by  the  suffering  of  the  man  who  had  been 
tortured  by  the  narrowness  of  life,  full  of  anger  on  his  ac- 
count, he  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  where  the  lights 
of  the  town  were  gleaming,  and  in  an  outburst  of  malignant 
grief,  he  roared,  in  a  thick,  loud  voice: 

"  A-a-ana-thema!  Curse  you!  Just  wait  .  .  and  you 
shall  choke!    Curse  you!  " 


U7 


XI 

"  LiUBAVKA  !  '*  said  Mayakin  one  day,  when  he  came 
home  from  ^Change,  "  prepare  yourself  this  evening — I'm 
going  to  bring  your  bridegroom!  Arrange  a  nice  hearty 
little  feast  for  us  .  .  Set  out  as  much  of  the  old  silver  on 
the  table  as  you  can  .  .  .  take  out  che  fruit-dishes  also 
.  .  I  want  him  to  be  impressed  with  our  table!  Let  him 
see  that  everything  we  have  is  a  rarity!  " 

Liuboff  was  sitting  at  the  window,  darning  her  father's 
socks,  and  her  head  was  bent  low  over  her  work. 

"  What  is  the  necessity  for  all  that,  papa?  "  she  inquired, 
displeased  and  offended. 

"  Why,  for  sauce  ...  for  flavor  .  .  And  it's  the 
proper  thing  to  do.  Moreover,  a  lass  is  not  a  horse,  you 
can't  get  her  off  your  hands  without  the  harness    .    ." 

Liuboff  threw  up  her  head  nervously,  and  flinging  her 
work  from  her,  she  gazed  at  her  father,  all  crimson  with 
indignation  .  .  .  and  then,  taking  the  socks  into  her 
hand  again,  she  bent  her  head  still  lower  over  them.  The 
old  man  stalked  about  the  room,  plucking  at  his  fiery  beard 
in  a  preoccupied  manner;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  something 
in  the  far  distance,  and  it  was  obvious  that  he  was  com- 
pletely engrossed  in  some  great  and  complicated  calculation. 
The  young  girl  comprehended  that  he  would  not  listen  to 
her,  and  that  he  did  not  wish  to  understand  how  humiliat- 
ing his  words  were  for  her.  Her  romantic  dreams  of  a  hus- 
band-friend, an  educated  man,  who  would  peruse  with  her 

948 


Foma  Gordydeff 

clever  little  books,  and  help  her  to  analyze  her  confused 
aspirations,  were  stifled  within  her  by  her  father's  irrevoc- 
able decision  to  marry  her  to  Sni61in,had  been  killed,  had  de- 
composed and  been  precipitated,  leaving  a  bitter  sediment 
in  her  soul.  She  had  become  accustomed  to  look  upon  her- 
self as  something  better  and  higher  than  the  ordinary  young 
girl  of  the  merchant  class, — the  empty-headed,  stupid  young 
girl,  who  thinks  solely  of  finery,  and  almost  always  marries 
in  accordance  with  the  calculations  of  her  parents,  and  rarely 
in  accordance  with  the  free  choice  of  her  own  heart.  And 
now,  here  was  she  herself  about  to  marry  merely  because 
it  was  high  time,  and  because  her  father  needed  a  son-in- 
law,  a  successor  in  his  business.  But  her  father,  evidently, 
thought  that  she,  by  herself,  was  not  capable  of  attracting 
the  attention  of  a  man,  and  was  going  to  deck  her  out  with 
silver.  Much  perturbed,  she  worked  nervously,  pricked  her 
fingers,  broke  her  needles,  but  remained  silent,  well  aware 
that  her  father's  heart  would  be  deaf  to  anything  she  could 
say. 

But  the  old  man  still  continued  to  stride  about  the  room, 
now  humming  psalms  in  an  undertone,  now  impressively 
instructing  his  daughter  how  she  ought  to  behave  towards 
her  bridegroom.  And,  at  the  same  time,  he  kept  calculat- 
ing something  on  his  fingers,  frowning  and  smiling. 

"  Mm  .  .  precisely  so,  sir!  .  .  .  Judge  me,  0  God, 
and  plead  my  cause  .  .  deliver  me  from  the  deceitful 
and  unjust  man  .  .  Ye-e-es  .  .  Put  on  your  mother's 
emeralds,  Liuboff." 

"  Do  stop,  papa! "  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  in  anguish 
.    .    "  Pray  drop  the  subject    .    ." 

"  Don't  you  kick!    Listen  to  your  lesson    .    .    ." 

And  again  he  plunged  into  his  calculations,  puckering  up 
his  green  eyes,  and  wiggling  his  fingers  in  front  of  his  face. 

S49 


Fomi  Gordydeff 

"  It  reckons  up  thirty-five  per  cent  .  .  .  mm  ... 
a  sharp  young  fellow  .  .  Send  Thy  li-i-ight  and  Thy 
truth    .    :' 

"  Dear  papa!  "  cried  Liuboff  sadly  and  timidly. 

"What?" 

"  You    .    .    are  you  very  much  pleased  with  him?  " 

"  Who?  " 

"  SmoHn/' 

"  Smolin?  We-ell,  ye-es  .  .  he's  a  ro-ogue  .  .  he's 
a  capable  young  fellow  .  .  a  fi-ine  merchant!  Well,  I'm 
off  now    .    .    So  you  attend  to  it — equip  yourself    .    ." 

When  she  was  left  alone,  Liuboff  flung  aside  her  work, 
and  leaned  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  shutting  her  eyes 
tightly.  Her  firmly  clasped  hands  lay  on  her  knees,  and  her 
fingers  fairly  cracked  with  the  strain.  Filled  with  the  bitter- 
ness of  wounded  self-love,  she  felt  painfully  afraid  of  the 
future,  and  prayed  silently: 

"  0  my  God!  0  Lord!  .  .  If  he  were  only  a  well-bred 
man!  Make  him  well-bred  .  .  sincere.  0  God!  Some 
man  or  other  comes  and  looks  you  over  and — takes  you  to 
himself  for  long,  long  years  .  .  if  you  please  him!  How 
infamous  it  is  .  .  .  how  terrible  .  .  0  God,  my  God! 
If  I  could  only — run  away!  .  .  I  wish  I  had  some  one  to 
advise  me  .  .  what  to  do?  Who  is  he?  How  am  I  to 
know  him?  I  can  do  nothing!  But  I  have  thought  .  .  I 
have  thought  so  much!  I  have  read  .  .  Why  have  I 
read?  Why  should  I  know  that  it  is  possible  to  live  other- 
wise— as  I  cannot  live?  But  .  .  perhaps  if  it  were  not 
for  the  books  .  .  I  should  find  it  ...  I  might  live 
more  easily  .  .  .  simply  .  .  .  What  a  torture  all  this 
is!  What  a  wretched  .  .  .  unhappy  creature  I  am!  .  . 
Alone.    If  Taras  were  only  here    .      .    ." 

At  the  recollection  of  her  brother,  she  felt  still  more  in- 

sso 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

dignant,  still  more  sorry  for  herself.  She  had  written  Taras 
a  long,  exultant  letter,  wherein  she  had  spoken  of  her  love 
for  him,  of  her  hopes  based  on  him;  she  had  entreated  her 
brother  to  come  as  speedily  as  possible  to  see  his  father, 
she  had  sketched  out  plans  for  their  life  together,  assuring 
Taras  that  his  father — was  a  very  clever  man,  and  would 
understand  everything;  she  had  told  about  his  loneliness, 
had  indulged  in  raptures  over  his  adaptability  to  life,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  had  complained  of  his  treatment  of  her- 
self. 

For  two  weeks  she  tremulously  awaited  a  reply,  and  when 
it  had  arrived  and  she  had  read  it, — she  had  cried  herself 
into  hysterics  with  joy  and  disappointment.  The  answer 
was  dry  and  brief;  in  it,  Taras  announced  that,  in  the 
course  of  a  month,  he  would  be  on  the  Volga  on  business, 
and  would  make  a  point  of  calling  on  his  father,  if  the  old 
man  really  had  no  objection  to  his  doing  so.  The  letter  was 
cold  as  a  block  of  ice;  she  read  it  over  several  times,  in  tears, 
and  crumpled  it,  and  twisted  it  up,  but  it  did  not  grow  any 
the  warmer  in  consequence,  but  only  got  wet  through. 
From  out  of  the  sheet  of  stiff  writing-paper,  written  in  a 
large,  firm  hand,  there  seemed  to  gaze  forth  upon  her  a 
wrinkled,  gaunt,  angular  face,  scowling  with  suspicion,  like 
her  father^s  face. 

On  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  the  letter  of  his  son  produced  an 
entirely  different  impression.  On  learning  that  Taras  had 
written,  the  old  man  gave  a  great  start,  and  turned  hastily 
to  his  daughter,  with  much  vivacity,  and  a  peculiar  little 
smile: 

"  Come  now!  Give  it  here!  Show  it  to  me!  Let's  read 
how  wise  men  write  .  .  .  Where  are  my  spectacles?  Mm 
.    .    .    '  Dear  Sister! '    We-ell    .    .    ." 

The  old  man  ceased;  he  read  his  son's  epistle  to  himself, 

351 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

laid  it  on  the  table,  and  elevating  his  brows  very  high,  he 
walked  about  the  room  with  an  amazed  visage.  Then  he 
read  the  letter  again;  drumming  thoughtfully  with  his 
fingers  on  the  table,  he  remarked: 

"  That's  all  right  .  .  it's  a  judicious  letter  .  .  with- 
out any  superfluous  words.  What  of  it?  Perhaps  the  man 
has  really  hardened,  out  in  the  cold  .  .  The  cold  is  severe 
there.  Let  him  come  .  .  we'll  have  a  look  at  him  .  . 
I'm  curious  .  .  .  Ye-es  .  .  In  a  Psalm  of  David  it  is 
said  concerning  the  mysterious  dealings  of  his  son:  '  When 
Thou  didst  turn  back  mine  enemy  again  .  .  .'  I've  for- 
gotten what  comes  next  ...  *  The  weapons  of  the  enemy 
have  grown  weak  at  the  last  .  .  and  his  memory  hath 
perished  with  a  noise  .  .'  Well,  we'll  converse  with  him 
without  any  noise    .    ." 

The  old  man  tried  to  speak  calmly  and  with  a  contemptu- 
ous smile,  but  the  smile  did  not  appear  on  his  face,  the 
wrinkles  quivered  with  excitement,  and  his  little  eyes 
seemed  to  gleam  with  peculiar  brilliancy. 

"Write  to  him  again,  Liubavka  .  .  tell  him  to  goi 
ahead — to  come  fearlessly    .    ." 

Liuboff  wrote  again  to  Taras,  but  this  time  the  letter  was 
brief  and  composed,  and  now  she  was  expecting  an  answer 
any  day,  and  trying  to  picture  to  herself  what  he  must  be 
like,  this  mysterious  brother  of  hers?  Formerly  she  had 
been  wont  to  think  of  him  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  with 
that  devout  respect  with  which  believers  think  of  ascetics, 
persons  of  upright  life — but  now  she  felt  afraid  of  him,  for, 
at  the  cost  of  severe  sufferings,  at  the  cost  of  his  youth, 
wasted  in  exile,  he  had  acquired  the  right  to  judge  both  life 
and  people    .    .    .    He  would  come,  and  ask  her: 

"  Of  course,  you  are  marrying  of  your  own  free  will,  for 
love?" 

353 


Foma  Gordy^efif 

What  should  she  say  to  him?  Would  he  pardon  her 
pusillanimity?  And  why  was  she  marrying?  Was  this,j 
in  reality,  the  only  thing  she  eould  do  in  order  to  alter  her* 
life? 

One  after  another,  melancholy  thoughts  arose  in  the 
young  girl's  mind,  and  confused  and  tortured  her,  powerless 
as  she  was  to  oppose  them  with  any  definite,  irresistible  de- 
sire. Although  seized  with  an  anxious  and  nervous  mood, 
although  she  was  on  the  verge  of  despair,  nevertheless  she 
half-unconsciously  but  punctually  fulfilled  her  father's  com- 
mands: she  decked  the  table  with  ancient  silver  and  rare 
crystal,  donned  a  silk  gown,  and  seating  herself  before  her 
mirror,  began  to  place  in  her  ears  huge  emeralds — a  family 
heirloom  of  the  Princes  of  Georgia,  which  had  remained  in 
Mayakin's  hands  as  surety  for  a  loan,  together  with  many 
other  precious  things. 

As  she  gazed  into  the  mirror  at  her  agitated  face,  whose 
large  and  luscious  lips  looked  handsomer  than  ever  amid 
the  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  as  she  scrutinized  her  superb  bust, 
closely  enfolded  by  the  silk,  she  felt  conscious  that  she  was 
beautiful  and  worthy  of  the  attention  of  any  man,  who- 
ever he  might  be.  The  green  stones  sparkling  in  her  ears 
affronted  her,  as  superfluous,  and,  in  addition,  it  struck 
her  that  their  gleam  cast  a  slight  tinge  of  yellow  upon  her 
neck.  She  removed  the  emeralds  from  her  ears,  replacing 
them  with  small  rubies,  and  meditating  all  the  time  about 
Smolin — what  sort  of  a  man  he  might  be?  What  was  his 
character?    What  did  he  wish?    Did  he  read  books? 

Then  the  dark  circles  under  her  eyes  displeased  her,  and 
she  began  carefully  to  sprinkle  them  with  powder,  without 
ceasing  to  think  about  the  misfortune  of  being  a  woman, 
and  reproaching  herself  with  lack  of  will-power.  When 
the  spots  around  her  eyes  were  covered  with  a  layer  of  paint 

353 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

and  powder,  it  struck  Liuboff  that  this  had  robbed  her  eyes 
of  their  brilliancy,  and  she  wiped  off  the  powder  .  .  A 
last  glance  in  the  mirror  convinced  her  that  she  was  strik- 
ingly beautiful, — beautiful  with  the  amiable  and  durable 
beauty  of  the  resinous  pine-tree.  This  agreeable  conviction 
somewhat  calmed  her  tremulous  mood,  and  she  entered  the 
dining-room  with  the  stately  mien  of  a  wealthy  bride  who 
knows  her  own  value. 

Her  father  and  Smolin  had  already  arrived. 

Liuboff  paused  for  a  second  in  the  door-way,  prettily  nar- 
rowing her  eyes,  and  proudly  compressing  her  lips.  Smolin 
rose  from  his  chair,  went  to  meet  her,  and  made  a  respect- 
ful bow.  The  bow  pleased  her — it  was  low  and  graceful; 
she  was  pleased,  also,  by  the  costly  frock-coat,  which  fitted 
Smolin's  flexible  figure  beautifully  .  .  He  had  not 
changed  much — he  was  the  same  red-headed,  closely- 
cropped,  much-freckled  person  as  of  yore;  only,  his  mus- 
tache had  grown  out  long  and  luxuriant,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
to  have  become  larger. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?  hey?"  shouted  Mayakin 
at  his  daughter,  pointing  at  her  suitor. 

But  Smolin  pressed  her  hand,  and  smiling,  said,  in  a 
ringing  baritone  voice: 

"  I  venture  to  hope  that  you  have  not  forgotten  your  old 
play-mate?" 

"  All  right!  .  .  You  can  talk  together  later  on — "  said 
the  old  man,  testing  his  daughter  with  his  eyes. — "  You 
may  attend  to  your  duties  here,  for  the  present,  Liubava, 
while  he  and  I  finish  our  little  confab.  Come — now, 
Afrian  Mitritch,  explain  yourself    .     ." 

"Will  you  excuse  me,  Liuboff  Yakovlevna?"  inquired 
Smolin  suavely. 

"  Pray  do  not  stand  on  ceremony,"  said  Liub6ff. 

354 


Fom^  Gordy^eff 

"  He's  courteous  and  adroit!  "  she  commented  to  herself, 
and  as  she  walked  about  the  room,  from  side-board  to  table, 
she  began  to  lend  an  attentive  ear  to  Smolin's  remarks. 
He  talked  softly,  confidently,  with  a  simplicity  in  which  was 
to  be  detected  condescension  towards  his  interlocutor. 

"  Well  then — for  about  four  years  I  diligently  studied 
the  position  of  Eussian  leather  in  foreign  markets.  It's 
a  very  dismal  and  dreadful  position!  Thirty  years  ago,  our 
leather  was  regarded  there  as  the  standard,  but  now  the 
demand  for  it  is  constantly  decreasing,  and,  of  course,  the 
price  also.  But  this  is  perfectly  natural — for  in  the  absence 
of  capital  and  knowledge,  all  these  petty  leather-producers 
cannot  possibly  raise  their  product  to  the  proper  degree 
of  merit,  and,  at  the  same  time,  make  it  more  cheaply  .  . 
Their  goods  are  shockingly  bad  and  dear  .  .  And  they 
are  all  guilty,  in  the  sight  of  Russia,  of  having  ruined  her 
reputation  as  the  manufacturer  of  the  best  leather.  There- 
fore, to  speak  in  a  general  way,  the  petty  producer,  who  has 
neither  capital  nor  technical  knowledge,  is  placed  in  a  posi- 
tion where  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  improve  his  products 
in  conformity  with  the  development  of  the  technical  branch, 
— and  such  a  producer  is  a  misfortune  for  the  country,  a 
parasite  on  her  trade." 

"  Mm  .  ."  bellowed  the  old  man,  keeping  one  eye  on 
his  guest,  and  watching  his  daughter  with  the  other. — "  So, 
I  understand, — your  present  intention  is — ^to  establish  such 
a  huge  factory,  that  nothing  will  be  left  for  all  the  others — 
except  a  coffin  and  its  cover?  " 

"  0,  no! ''  exclaimed  Smolin,  waving  off  the  old  man's 
words  with  an  easy  gesture  .  .  "  Why  injure  the  others? 
What  right  have  I  to  do  that?  My  aim  is,  to  raise  the  im- 
portance and  price  of  Russian  leather  abroad,  and  so,  armed 
with  knowledge  as  to  the  manufacture,  I  shall  erect  a  model 

355 


Foma  Gordy^eflf 

factory,  and  put  model  wares  on  the  market  .  .  .  The 
commercial  honor  of  the  country    .    .    ." 

"  Does  it  require  much  capital,  did  you  say? "  asked 
Mayakin  meditatively. 

"  About  three  hundred  thousand    .    .    ." 

"Father  won^t  give  that  much  as  my  dowry,"  thought 
Liuboff. 

"  My  factory  will  turn  out  leather  goods  also,  in  the  shape 
of  trunks,  shoes,  harnesses,  straps,  and  so  forth." 

"  What  per  cent,  do  you  dream  of  making?  "  asked  the 
old  man. 

"  I  am  not  dreaming,  I  am  reckoning  with  all  the  ac- 
curacy possible  under  conditions  in  Russia," — said  Smolin 
impressively. — "  A  manufacturer  should  be  severely  sober, 
in  his  quality  of  a  mechanician  who  is  creating  a  machine. 
The  wear  and  tear  on  every  screw,  no  matter  how  small, 
must  be  included  in  the  calculation,  if  you  wish  to  treat  a 
serious  matter  seriously.  I  can  give  you  to  read  two  little 
records  which  I  have  drawn  up,  founded  upon  my  own 
personal  study  of  cattle-breeding  and  the  consumption  of 
meat  in  Russia." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  laughed  Mayakin. — "You  fetch 
me  your  records  .  .  Vm  curious  to  see  them!  Evidently, 
you  didn't  spend  your  time  in  vain  in  that  same  Western 
Europe.  But  now,  let's  have  something  to  eat,  after  the 
Russian  custom    .    ." 

"How  goes  hfe  with  you  Liuboff  Yakovlevna?"  asked 
Smolin,  as  he  armed  himself  with  knife  and  fork. 

"  She  finds  life  with  me  very  tiresome,"  Mayakin  replied 
for  his  daughter. — "  She's  my  housekeeper, — the  whole 
management  lies  on  her, — so  she  never  has  any  time  to 
amuse  herself    .    ." 

"  And  no  place,  either,  you  ought  to  add,"  said  Liub6ff. 

356 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"I  am  not  fond  of  merchants'  balls  and  evening  par- 
ties   .    ." 

"  But  the  theatre  ?  "  inquired  Smolin. 

"  I  rarely  go  there — I  have  no  one  to  go  with." 

"  The  theatre!  "  exclaimed  the  old  man. — "  Tell  me,  pray, 
why  it  has  become  so  much  the  fashion  to  represent  the 
merchant  as  a  wild  fool?  It's  very  amusing,  but  it's  in- 
comprehensible, because  it  isn't  true!  How  am  I  a  fool  if 
in  the  City  Council  I'm  the  master,  and  in  trade  I'm  the 
master, — and  that's  my  little  theatre?  .  .  You  look  at  a 
merchant  on  the  stage,  and  you  see — that  he's  not  con- 
sistent with  life!  Of  course,  if  you  are  giving  a  historical 
play,  for  example,  '  Life  for  the  Tzar,'  with  singing  and 
dancing,^  or  '  Hamlet,'  or  '  The  Sorceress,'  or  *  Vasilisa ' 
— truth  to  nature  is  not  required, — the  matter  is  past,  and 
does  not  concern  us  .  .  No  matter  whether  it  is  true  or 
not,  so  long  as  it's  good  .  .  But  if  you're  representing  the 
present  day, — then  don't  lie!    And  show  the  man  as  he  is!  " 

Smolin  listened  to  the  old  man's  speech  with  a  polite 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  kept  casting  at  Liuboff  glances  which 
seemed  to  invite  her  to  reply  to  her  father. 

In  some  confusion,  she  said: 

'*  And  yet,  papa,  the  majority  of  the  merchant  class  are 
uneducated  and  rough    .    ." 

"  Yes,"  said  Smolin  regretfully,  with  an  affirmative  nod 
of  the  head, — "  that  is  the  melancholy  truth." 

"  There,  for  example,  is  Foma,"  went  on  the  young  girl. 

"0?"  exclaimed  Mayakin. — "Well,  you  young  folks — 
you  must  have  books  in  your  hands    .    ." 

"And   you   never   participate  in   any   social   affairs?" 

*  Glinka's  famous  and  favorite  opera,  founded  on  an  incident  con- 
nected with  the  election  to  the  throne  of  Tzar  Mikhail  FeodoroTitch, 
the  first  Romanoff  sovereign,  in  the  year  1612. — Translator* 

357 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Smolin  asked  Liuboff.  "  You  have  a  great  deal  of  society 
here    .    ." 

"  Yes/'  said  Liuboff  with  a  sigh,  "  but  I  live  rather  apart 
from  everything    .     " 

"  Housekeeping!  "  put  in  her  father. — "  We  have  so 
many  nonsensical  things  about — everything  has  to  be  kept 
account  of,  kept  clean  and  in  order    .    /' 

He  nodded  his  head  with  self-satisfaction  at  the  table,  set 
out  with  glittering  crystal  and  silver,  and  at  the  sideboard, 
whose  shelves  were  fairly  breaking  under  the  load  of  articles, 
and  reminded  the  beholder  of  a  display  in  a  shop  window. 
Smolin  scrutinized  all  these  things,  and  an  ironical  smile 
flitted  across  his  lips.  Then  he  glanced  at  Liuboff's  face; 
in  his  glance  she  detected  an  element  that  was  friendly, 
sympathetic  to  her.  A  faint  blush  colored  her  cheeks,  and, 
with  inward  joy  she  said  to  herself: 

"Thank  God!" 

The  light  of  the  massive  bronze  lamp  seemed  to  gleam 
more  brilliantly  on  the  facets  of  the  crystal  dishes,  and  the 
room  grew  brighter. 

"  Your  splendid  old  town  pleases  me!  "  said  Smolin,  look- 
ing at  the  young  girl  with  a  caressing  smile, — "  it  is  so 
beautiful,  so  dashing  .  .  it  has  something  alert  about  it, 
which  incites  one  to  work  .  .  its  very  picturesqueness 
seems  stimulating  .  .  In  it  one  wishes  to  live  an  expan- 
sive life  .  .  one  wants  to  work  much  and  seriously  .  . 
And  then,  it  is  an  intelligent  town  .  .  Just  see  what  a 
practical  newspaper  is  published  here  .  .  By  the  way, 
we  wish  to  purchase  it    .    ." 

''  Whom  do  you  mean  by  *  we  '  ?  "  asked  Mayakin. 

"  Why,  I    .    .    Urvantzoff  Shtchukin    .    ." 

"  That's  laudable ! ''  said  the  old  man,  smiting  the  table 
with  his  fist. — "That'    very  practical!    It's  time  to  gag  it 

o53 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

— ^it  ought  to  have  been  done  long  ago!  In  particular, 
there's  an  Ezhoff  there  .  .  he's  a  regular  coarse-toothed 
saw  .  .  .  You  just  put  the  thumb-screws  on  him!  Give 
them  a  good  turn!  " 

Again  Smolin  cast  at  Liuboff  a  smiling  glance,  and  again 
her  heart  quivered  with  joy.  With  a  vivid  flush  on  her 
cheeks  she  said  to  her  father,  inwardly  addressing  her  re- 
marks to  her  bridegroom: 

"  So  far  as  I  understand  Afrian  Dmitrievitch,  he  is  not 
going  to  buy  the  paper  with  the  least  intention  of  closing 
its  mouth,  as  you  say." 

"  Then  what  can  he  do  with  it  ?  " — inquired  the  old  man, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. — "  There's  nothing  to  it  but  empty 
bragging  and  sedition  ...  Of  course,  if  practical  people, 
the  merchants  themselves,  take  to  writing  for  it    .    ." 

"  The  publication  of  a  newspaper,"  said  Smolin  didacti- 
cally, interrupting  the  old  man's  speech,  "  if  it  be  regarded 
only  from  the  commercial  point  of  view,  may  be  a  very 
profitable  undertaking.  But,  in  addition  to  this,  a  news- 
paper has  another,  a  more  important  object — ^it  lies  in  de- 
fending the  rights  of  individuality,  and  the  interests  of  in- 
dustry and  trade." 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  say, — if  the  merchants  them- 
selves will  manage  it,  the  newspaper,  why  then,  .  .  it  will 
be  useful    .    .    ." 

"  Allow  me,  papa,"  said  Liuboff. 

She  had  begun  to  feel  the  need  of  expressing  herself  be- 
fore Smolin;  she  wished  to  convince  him  that  she  under- 
stood the  significance  of  his  words,  that  she  was  not  a  com- 
mon merchant's  daughter,  devoted  to  dress  and  dancing. 
Smolin  pleased  her.  For  the  first  time  she  beheld  a  mer- 
chant, who  had  lived  long  abroad,  who  reasoned  so  sugges- 
tively, who  bore  himself  in  so  gentlemanly  a  way,  who  was 

359 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

60  well  dressed,  and  who  conversed  with  her  father — ^the 
wisest  man  in  towi5— in  the  patronizing  tone  of  a  grown 
man  towards  a  minor. 

"  After  the  wedding  I  will  persuade  him  to  take  me 
abroad/'  she  suddenly  said  to  herself,  and,  disconcerted  at 
this  thought,  she  forgot  what  she  had  wished  to  say  to  her 
father.  Blushing  deeply,  she  remained  silent  for  a  few  sec- 
onds, completely  overcome  with  terror  lest  Smolin  should 
interpret  this  silence  in  a  manner  unflattering  to  her. 

"  While  you  have  been  talking,  you  have  quite  forgotten 
to  offer  your  guest  any  wine,"  she  contrived  to  say  after 
several  disagreeable  seconds  of  silence. 

"  That's  your  affair;  you  are  the  mistress  of  the  house," 
retorted  her  father. 

"  0,  pray  do  not  trouble  yourself! "  exclaimed  Smolin 
with  animation. — "  I  hardly  drink  at  all." 

**  Eeally?  "  queried  Mayakin. 

"  I  don't,  I  assure  you!  Sometimes  I  take  a  glass  or  two, 
in  case  of  fatigue  or  illness  .  .  But  wine  for  pleasure — 
is  incomprehensible  to  me.  There  are  other  pleasures  more 
worthy  of  a  cultivated  man." 

"Women,  you  mean?"  inquired  the  old  man,  with  a 
wink. 

Smolin's  cheeks  and  neck  became  scarlet  with  the  color 
which  flew  to  his  face.  He  glanced  at  Liuboff  with  apolo- 
getic eyes,  and  said  drily  to  her  father: 

"  There  is  the  theatre,  there  are  books,  and  music    .    .'* 

Liubofl  fairly  blossomed  out  at  his  words. 

But  the  old  man  looked  askance  at  the  worthy  young 
man,  laughed  rather  sharply,  and  suddenly  burst  forth: 

"  Ekh,  life  moves  on!  In  former  days,  a  puppy  devoured 
a  crust  eagerly,  now-a-days  a  lap-dog  finds  the  cream  too 
thin    .    .    Excuse  me,  my  amiable  sirs,  for  the  unpleasant 

360 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

remark  .  .  it  is  very  much  to  the  point!  It's  not  aimed 
at  you,  but  is  a  general  remark/' 

Liuboff  turned  pale,  and  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  at 
Smolin.  He  was  sitting  quietly,  looking  at  an  ancient  salt- 
cellar in  the  form  of  a  porringer,  decorated  with  enamel, 
twisting  his  mustache,  and,  apparently  had  not  heard  the 
old  man's  words.  But  his  eyes  clouded  over,  and  his  lips 
were  pressed  together  very  firmly,  so  that  his  shaven  chin 
projected  straight  forward. 

"  So,  I  understand,  Mr.  Future  Leading  Merchant,"  re- 
sumed Mayakin,  as  though  nothing  had  happened, — "  three 
hundred  thousand  rubles, — and  your  business  will  begin  to 
thrive  like  a  house  afire?  " 

"  And  within  a  year  and  a  half  I  shall  put  on  the  market 
my  first  parcel  of  goods,  which  will  go  off  like  hot  cakes," 
said  Smolin,  simply,  and  with  immovable  confidence,  and 
looked  the  old  man  straight  in  the  eye,  with  a  firm,  cold 
stare. 

"  So  it's  to  be:  the  mercantile  house  of  Smolin  and  Maya- 
kin  and — no  one  else?  .  .  .  Yes,  sir  .  .  Only,  it's 
rather  late  in  life  for  me  to  start  a  new  business,  isn't  it, 
hey?  I  must  assume  that  a  little  grave  has  been  made  for 
me  long  ago    .    .    what  do  you  think  about  it?  " 

In  lieu  of  a  reply,  Smolin  laughed  for  several  seconds, 
with  a  rich,  but  cold  and  indifferent  laugh,  and  then  said: 

"  Eh,  have  done    .    ." 

The  old  man  shuddered  at  his  laughter,  and  recoiled, 
timorously,  with  an  almost  imperceptible  movement  of  his 
body.  All  three  remained  silent  for  a  moment  after  Smo- 
lin's  words. 

"  Well,  ye-es  .  .  ."  said  Mayakin,  without  raising  his 
head,  which  was  bent  very  low  .  .  "  One  must  think  of 
that, — I  must  think  of  that      .    .    ."    Then,  raising  his 

361 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

head,  he  intently  surveyed  his  daughter  and  her  suitor, 
and,  rising  from  his  chair,  he  said,  loudly  and  sullenly: — 
**  I'm  going  away  from  you  for  a  little  minute  into  my  little 
study    .    .    You  won't  feel  bored  without  me,  I  fancy!  " 

And  off  he  went,  with  bowed  back  and  drooping  head, 
dragging  his  feet  heavily  along. 

The  young  people,  on  being  left  alone,  exchanged  a  few 
empty  phrases,  and,  in  all  probability,  conscious  that  this 
only  removed  them  further  apart,  they  relapsed  into  an 
oppressive,  awkward  silence  of  anticipation.  Liuboff,  tak- 
ing an  orange,  began  to  peel  it  with  exaggerated  care,  while 
Smolin  inspected  his  mustache,  with  lowered  eyes,  then 
carefully  stroked  it  with  his  left  hand,  toyed  with  a  knife, 
and  suddenly  asked  the  young  girl,  in  a  lowered  tone: 

"  A  .  .  .  pardon  me  for  my  indiscretion!  You  really 
must  find  it  very  difficult  to  hve  with  your  papa  .  .  .  he's 
a  man  of  the  old  school,  and — excuse  me — decidedly 
harsh! " 

Liuboff  quivered,  and  cast  a  grateful  glance  at  the  red- 
haired  man,  as  she  said  to  him: 

"  It  is  not  easy,  but  I  have  got  used  to  it  .  .  He  has 
his  good  qualities    .    .    ." 

"  0,  undoubtedly!  But  for  you,  young,  beautiful,  edu- 
cated, for  you  with  your  views  .  .  you  see,  I  have  heard 
mo»e  or  less  about  you    .    .    ." 

He  smiled  so  caressingly  and  sympathetically,  and  his 
voice  was  so  soft  .  .  A  spirit  of  warmth  and  cheer  was 
wafted  through  the  room.  And  in  the  heart  of  the  young 
girl  there  flamed  up  more  and  more  brightly  the  timid  hope 
of  happiness,  of  release  from  the  close  captivity  of  isolation. 


362 


XII 

A  DENSE,  grayish  fog  hung  over  the  river,  and  a  steamer, 
shrieking  dully,  was  slowly  sailing  up  it  against  the  current. 
The  damp,  cold  clouds,  of  a  deadly  monotony  of  hue,  en- 
veloped the  steamer  on  all  sides,  and  deadened  all  sounds, 
dissolving  them  all  in  their  turbid  humidity.  The  brazen 
roar  of  signals  droned  out  in  a  stifled,  mournful  way, 
and  was  strangely  brief,  as  it  burst  forth  from  the  whistle: 
the  sound  seemingly  unable  to  find  a  place  for  itself  in  the 
air,  impregnated  with  dense  humidity,  fell  downward,  wet 
and  choked.  And  the  noise  of  the  steamer's  wheels  sounded 
as  fantastically-dull  as  though  it  did  not  proceed  from  close 
at  hand,  but  from  somewhere  deep  down  below,  on  the  dark 
bed  of  the  river.  From  the  steamer,  neither  the  water  nor 
the  hills  nor  the  sky  were  visible:  a  leaden-gray  obscurity 
enveloped  it  on  all  sides;  devoid  of  shading,  painfully  mo- 
notonous, it  lay  motionless,  pressed  upon  the  steamer  with 
immeasurable  weight,  impeded  its  movements,  and  seemed 
to  be  making  ready  to  suck  it  down  into  its  bosom,  as  it 
was  sucking  the  sounds.  Despite  the  dull  blows  of  the 
paddle-blades  upon  the  water,  and  the  regular  vibration  of 
the  vessel's  body,  it  seemed  as  though  the  steamer  were 
painfully  struggling  on  one  spot,  panting  with  agony,  hiss- 
ing like  an  expiring  monster  in  a  fairy-tale,  howling  in  the 
death-agony,  howling  with  pain  and  the  fear  of  death. 

The  lights  of  the  steamer  were  lifeless.  Around  the 
lantern  on  the  mast  a  circular,  motionless  spot  had  formed; 

363 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

it  hung  in  the  fog  above  the  vessel,  devoid  of  radiance,  and 
illuminating  nothing,  except  the  gray  mist.  The  red  star- 
board light  resembled  a  huge  eye,  crushed  out  by  someone's 
cruel  fist,  blinded,  suffused  with  blood.  Pale  specks  of 
light  fell  upon  the  fog  from  the  windows  of  the  steamer, 
and  merely  accentuated  its  cold  triumph,  devoid  of  joy, 
over  the  vessel  crushed  by  the  motionless  mass  of  choking 
dampness. 

The  smoke  from  the  funnel  fell  downwards,  and,  in  com- 
pany with  fragments  of  the  fog,  penetrated  into  all  the 
cracks  of  the  deck,  where  the  third-class  passengers  had 
silently  wrapped  themselves  in  their  rags,  and  were  hud- 
dling together  in  little  knots,  like  sheep.  From  the  ma- 
chinery proceeded  heavy,  painful  sighs,  quivering  bell-sig- 
nals, the  dull  sounds  of  orders  and  the  fragmentary  words 
of  the  engineer: 

"  Yes  sir — slow!    .    .    Yes  sir    .    .    half-speed! " 

On  the  stern,  in  a  corner  piled  high  with  casks  of  salted 
fish,  was  assembled  a  group  of  people  who  were  illuminated 
by  an  electric  light.  These  persons  were  staid,  warmly  and 
neatly  clad  peasants;  one  of  them  was  reclining  on  a  bench, 
back  upward,  another  was  sitting  at  his  feet,  still  another 
was  standing,  with  his  back  propped  against  a  cask,  and 
two  were  seated  flat  on  the  deck.  The  countenances  of  all, 
thoughtful  and  attentive,  were  turned  towards  a  round- 
shouldered  man  in  a  rusty  cassock,  and  a  tattered  fur  cap. 
This  man  was  sitting,  with  bowed  back,  upon  a  box,  and 
gazing  at  his  feet,  was  talking  in  a  quiet,  confident  voice: 

"  There  will  come  an  end  to  the  longsuffering  of  the 
Lord,  and   His  wrath  will  break  forth  upon  men     . 
We  are  all  worms  in  His  sight,  and  when  His  wrath  is 
loosed  upon  us,  with  what  wailing  shall  we  appeal  to  His 
mercy?  " 

364 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Under  the  haunting  impulse  of  his  distress,  Fomd  had 
quitted  his  cabin  and  descended  to  the  deck,  and,  for  a 
long  time,  had  been  standing  in  the  shadow  of  some  freight 
covered  with  a  tarpaulin,  and  listening  to  the  gentle,  horta- 
tory voice  of  the  exhorter.  As  he  strode  up  and  down  the 
deck,  he  had  come  upon  this  group,  and  had  paused  in 
its  vicinity,  attracted  by  the  figure  of  the  pilgrim.  There 
was  something  familiar  to  him  in  that  huge,  strong  body, 
with  the  dark,  austere  visage,  and  large,  calm  eye8.  The 
curling,  iron-gray  hair,  which  escaped  from  beneath  the 
skull-cap,  the  abundant,  unkempt  beard,  falling  apart  in 
thick  tufts,  the  long,  hooked  nose,  the  sharp-pointed  ears, 
the  thick  lips — all  these  Foma  had  beheld  before,  at  some 
time  or  other,  but  he  could  not  recall  when  and  where. 

"  We-ll,  we  are  burdened  with  many  arrears  in  the  sight 
of  the  Lord !  '^  said  one  of  the  peasants,  sighing  heavily. 

"  We  must  pray,^'  whispered  the  peasant  who  was  lying 
on  ^""le  bench,  in  a  barely  audible  voice. 

^'  Can  sinful  impiety  be  scraped  clean  from  the  soul  by 
prayerful  words  ?  "  exclaimed  some  one  on  one  side,  loudly, 
almost  with  despair  in  his  voice. 

None  of  the  persons  who  formed  the  group  about  the 
pilgrim  turned  towards  this  voice,  but  the  heads  of  all  sank 
yet  lower,  and  for  a  long  time  these  men  sat  motionless  and 
silent. 

The  pilgrim  surveyed  all  his  hearers  with  a  serious  and 
meditative  glance  of  his  blue  eyes,  and  began  again,  softly: 

"Ephraim  the  Syrian  hath  said:  'Make  thy  soul  the 
central  point  of  thy  thought,  and  strengthen  thyself  with 
thy  will  unto  freedom  from  sin    .    .    .'  " 

And  again  he  bowed  his  head,  slowly  slipping  the  beads 
of  his  rosary  through  his  fingers. 

"  That  means,  we  must  think?  "  said  one  of  the  peasants. 

365 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

''  But  what  time  has  a  man  to  think  when  he  lives  in  the 
world?  " 

'*  All  around  us  is  turmoil    .    .'' 

"  We  must  flee  to  the  desert,"  said  the  recumbent  peasant. 

"  Not  everyone  can  do  that    .    ." 

The  peasants  said  their  say,  and  again  fell  silent.  A 
whistle  sounded,  a  little  bell  rang  at  the  engine.  A  loud 
shout  rang  out  from  somewhere  or  other: 

"Hi,  there!    To  the  measuring  poles    .    .     ** 

"  0  Lord,  0  Queen  of  Heaven!  "  came  a  heavy  sigh. 

But  a  dull,  half-choked  voice  shouted: 

"  Ni-i-ine    .    .    ni-i-ine    .    ."  ^ 

Tufts  of  mist  broke  away  and  fell  on  the  deck,  and  rolled 
across  it  like  cold,  gray  smoke. 

"  Here,  good  people,  hearken  to  the  words  of  King  David 
..."  said  the  pilgrim,  and  swaying  his  head  to  and  fro, 
he  began  to  recite  distinctly:  *  Lead  me,  0  Lord,  in  thy 
righteousness,  because  of  mine  enemies;  make  thy  way  plain 
before  my  face!  For  there  is  no  faithfulness  in  his  mouth, 
their  inward  parts  are  very  wickedness,  their  throat  is  an 
open  sepulchre,  they  flatter  with  their  tongue  .  .  Destroy 
thou  them,  0  God,  let  them  perish  through  their  imagina- 
tions   .    .'" 

"E-eight    .    .    Se-even    .    .    ." 

The  steamer  hissed  angrily,  and  slowed  down.  The  roar- 
ing hiss  of  the  steam  drowned  the  pilgrim's  words,  and 
Foma  could  only  see  the  movement  of  his  lips. 

"  Get  out!  "  rang  out  a  loud  and  angry  cry  .  .  "It's 
my  place! " 

"  You-urs?  " 

*  The  numbers  here,  and  further  on,  refer  to  soundings,  which,  on 
the  Volga  steamers,  are  made  with  long  poles,  by  men  stationed  on  the 
bow. —  Translator. 

366 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Here's  yours  for  you!  " 

'^  1^11  hit  you  a  lick  over  the  snout  .  .  then  you'll  find 
your  own  place    .    .    Hey,  what  a  fine  gentleman! '' 

"  Go  along  with  you!  " 

An  uproar  arose.  The  peasants  who  were  listening  to  the 
pilgrim  turned  their  heads  towards  the  quarter  where  the 
row  was  in  progress,  and  the  pilgrim  heaved  a  sigh  and 
stopped  short.  A  loud  and  lively  dispute  flamed  up  near 
the  engine,  as  though  dry  branches,  cast  upon  a  bonfire, 
had  caught  the  flame. 

"  I'll  give  it  to  you,  you  devils.    Scat,  both  of  you!  " 

"  Take  them  to  the  captain." 

"  Ha-ha-ha!    Here's  a  fine  settlement!  " 

"  That  was  a  healthy  whack  he  gave  him  in  the  neck!  " 

"  They're  sailors    .    .    they're  experts  at  that    .    .    ." 

"Ei-eight  .  .  .  Ni-i-ine  .  .  ."  shouted  the  man 
with  the  sounding-pole. 

"  Yes,  sir — increased  speed !  "  rang  out  the  engineer's 
loud  cry. 

Swaying  unsteadily  on  his  feet  with  the  motion  of  the 
steamer,  Foma  stood  queezed  up  against  the  tarpaulin,  lend- 
ing an  attentive  ear  to  all  the  sounds  around  him,  which 
where  merged,  for  him,  into  one  general,  familiar  picture. 

Through  fog  and  uncertainty,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
obscurity  impenetrable  to  the  eye,  slowly  and  laboriously  ;. 
the  life  of  men  moves  onward  to  some  goal.    But  people  j 
grieve  over  their  sins,  sigh  heavily,  and  then  and  there  set 
to  quarrelling  over  a  warm  place,  and  after  thrashing  each 
other  for  its  possession,  they  in  turn  endure  blows  from 
those  who  desire  to  obtain  order  in  life.    Timidly  they  seek  j 
a  free  path  for  their  ends. 

"Ni-ine    .    .    .    Ei-eight    .    .    ." 

Softly  the  wailing  cry  is  wafted  over  the  ship,  and  the 

367 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

prayer  of  the  pilgrim  fades  away  amid  the  din  of  life.  And 
there  is  no  relief  from  grief,  there  is  no  joy,  for  him  who 
begins  to  meditate  upon  his  fate. 

Foma  wished  to  have  a  talk  with  the  pilgrim,  in  whose 
quiet  words  resounded  genuine  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  all 
sorts  of  fear  for  men  before  His  face.  The  gentle,  admoni- 
tory voice  of  the  pilgrim  possessed  a  peculiar  power,  which 
made  Foma  listen  to  its  deep  chest  tones. 

"  I'd  like  to  ask  how  he  lives  .  .  ."  thought  Foma,  in- 
tently scrutinizing  the  huge,  bowed  form. — "  And  where 
have  I  seen  him?  Or  does  he  resemble  someone  whom  I 
know?" 

Suddenly,  for  some  reason,  it  occurred  to  Foma  with 
peculiar  vividness,  that  this  gentle  exhorter  was  no  other 
than  the  son  of  old  Ananii  Shtchiiroff .  Struck  by  this  con- 
jecture, he  stepped  up  to  the  pilgrim,  and  sitting  down 
beside  him,  he  inquired  easily: 

"  Are  you  from  the  Irgiz,  father?  " 

The  man  raised  his  head,  slowly  and  with  difficulty  turned 
his  face  to  Foma,  inspected  him,  and  said  gently,  in  a  com- 
posed voice: 

"  I  have  been  on  the  Irgiz." 

"  0  you  belong  there  yourself?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  where  do  you  hail  from  now?  " 

"  From  the  shrine  of  Saint  Stephen    .    ." 

The  conversation  dropped, — Foma  lacked  the  boldness 
to  ask  the  pilgrim  whether  he  were  not  Shtchuroff  ? 

"  We  shall  be  behind  time  with  this  fog,"  said  someone. 

"  How  can  we  help  being !  " 

All  fell  silent,  and  gazed  at  Foma.  Young,  handsome, 
neatly  and  expensively  clad,  he  had  aroused  the  curiosity  of 
those  about  him  by  his  sudden  appearance  among  them, 

363 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

was  conscious  of  this  curiosity,  understood  that  they  were 
all  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  were  desirous  of  finding  out 
why  he  had  joined  them,  and — all  this  disconcerted  and 
enraged  him. 

"It  seems  to  me,  father,  that  I  have  seen  you  before/' 
he  said,  at  last. 

The  pilgrim  replied,  without  looking  at  him: 

"Perhaps    .    .    ." 

"I  must  have  a  talk  with  you,"  declared  Foma  faint- 
heartedly, in  a  low  tone. 

"What  is  it?    Speak    .    ." 

"  Come  with  me    .    ^ 

"Whither?'' 

"  To  my  cabin." 

The  pilgrim  glanced  at  Foma's  face,  and,  after  a  pause, 
consented: 

"  Come  on." 

As  he  walked  away,  Foma  felt  the  eyes  of  the  peasants 
on  his  back,  and  now  it  pleased  him  to  know  that  they  took 
an  interest  in  him. 

In  his  cabin,  he  inquired  affably: 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  eat  something?  Say  so — 
I  will  order  it    .    ." 

"  Christ  save  you    .    .    .    What  do  you  want?  " 

This  man,  in  his  dirty,  tattered  cassock,  rusty  with  age 
and  covered  with  patches, — cast  a  squeamish  glance  of  scru- 
tiny about  the  cabin,  and  when  he  seated  himself  on  the 
plush-covered  divan,  he  turned  up  the  skirt  of  his  cassock, 
as  though  afraid  that  it  would  get  soiled  by  the  plush. 

"What  shall  I  call  you,  father?"  asked  Foma,  taking 
note  of  the  fastidious  expression  on  the  man's  face. 

"  Miron." 

"And  not  Mikhail?" 

3G9 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

''Why  Mikhail?  '^  inquired  the  pilgrim. 

"  Why  .  .  in  our  town  there  was  .  .  the  son  of  a 
certain  merchant,  Shtchuroff  .  .  .  who  also  went  off  to 
the  Irgiz    .    .    and  his  name  was  Mikhail    .    ." 

As  Foma  spoke,  he  kept  his  eyes  intently  fixed  on  father 
Miron;  but  the  latter  was  as  calm  as  a  deaf-mute. 

"  I  never  met  such  a  man  .  .  I  don't  remember  hav- 
ing met  him  .  ."  he  said  thoughtfully  ..."  Was  it 
about  him  that  you  wished  to  speak  to  me?  " 

"Ye-es    .    .    :' 

"I  never  have  met  Mikhail  Shtchuroff  .  .  Now  ex- 
cuse me,  for  Christ's  sake!  "  and,  rising  from  the  divan,  the 
pilgrim  bowed  to  Foma  and  went  towards  the  door. 

"  Wait  ...  sit  down  .  .  let  us  talk! "  exclaimed 
Foma,  dashing  at  him  uneasily.  The  latter  cast  a  search- 
ing glance  at  him,  and  dropped  down  on  the  divan. 

From  somewhere  in  the  distance  there  was  borne  to  their 
ears  a  dull  sound,  resembling  a  deep  groan,  and  it  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  frightened,  prolonged  roar  of  the  steam- 
whistle  above  the  heads  of  Foma  and  his  guest.  From  the 
distance  came  a  still  clearer  reply  to  it,  and  again  it  roared 
not  far  from  them  in  broken,  terrifying  shrieks.  Foma 
opened  the  window;  through  the  fog,  not  far  from  their 
steamer,  something  was  moving  with  a  ponderous  noise, 
spots  of  transparent  lights  floated  past,  the  fog  was  vio- 
lently agitated,  and  again  sank  back  into  dead  immo- 
bility   .    . 

"  What  a  terror!  "  exclaimed  Foma,  closing  the  window. 

"  What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of?  "  asked  the  pilgrim. 

"Why — you  see!  It's  neither  day  nor  night  .  .  . 
neither  dark  nor  light!  Nothing  is  visible  .  .  we  are 
sailing  to  some  indefinite  point  or  other,  we  are  astray  on 
the  river    .    .    ." 

370 


FomA  Gordyeeff 

"Have  within  you  inward  fire,  light  in  your  soul,  and 
you  will  see  everything,"  said  the  pilgrim  didactically  and 
austerely. 

Foma  was  displeased  with  these  cold  words,  and  cast  a 
sidelong  glance  at  the  pilgrim.  The  latter  was  sitting,  with 
bowed  head,  as  immovable  as  though  he  were  absorbed  in 
prayer  and  meditation.  The  beads  of  his  rosary  rustled 
softly  through  his  fingers. 

His  attitude  begot  in  Foma's  breast  a  sort  of  free  and 
easy  audacity,  and  he  remarked: 

"  Say,  father  Miron,  it's  fine  to  live  so — according  to  your 
own  free  will  .  .  .  without  affairs,  without  relatives  .  . 
roving  about  as  a  pilgrim,  as  you  do." 

Father  Miron  raised  his  head,  and  began  to  laugh  softly, 
with  a  certain  caressing,  child-like  laughter.  His  whole 
countenance,  of  a  cinnamon-brown  hue  from  wind  and  sun- 
burn, was  illuminated  by  the  light  of  inward  joy.  He  was 
another  man — not  the  man  of  prayer  and  the  preacher  of 
an  upright  life  and  the  fear  of  God,  but  a  kindly,  simple 
peasant,  whose  soft  laughter  called  forth  from  Foma  a  good- 
natured  smile.  But  when  he  had  done  laughing,  and  had 
taken  a  look  at  Foma,  Miron  merely  uttered  a  profound 
sigh,  and  said  briefly: 

"As  if  it  could  be  bad!" 

"  That  means,  that  you  are  satisfied  with  your  life?  " 

"  I  do  not  burden  the  ear  of  the  Lord  with  my  reproaches 
.  .  it's  all  right,  I  manage  to  live!  The  lowly  life  is  the 
truly  godly  one  .  .  the  only  one  that  is  free  from  worldly 
ways    .    .    ." 

"  Well,  here  am  I  now,"  Foma  began,  but  broke  off,  and 
became  silent.  That  enviably  joyous  laugh  still  rang  in  his 
ears. 

"  Why  did  you  retire  from  the  world?  "  he  asked,  after  a 

pause. 

371 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  I  was  a  stranger  to  my  brethren,"  replied  Miron  calmly, 
and  surveying  the  cabin  with  an  attentive,  reflective  gaze, 
he  said,  with  contemptuous  compassion: 

"Eh,  how  they  have  built!  They  adorn  themselves, 
adorn  themselves  outwardly,  but  within  they  are  all  rub- 
bish   .    ." 

"  Ye-es  .  .  ."  drawled  Foma,  staring  out  of  the  win- 
dow.— "  So  you  like  to  wander  about?    Is  it  a  free  life?  " 

"  Ekh,  my  brother!  "  exclaimed  the  pilgrim  softly,  moving 
nearer  to  Foma,  and  gazing  into  his  face  both  caressingly 
and  sadly: — "I  divine  that  you  are  troubled  in  soul — are 
you  not  ?  " 

Foma  silently  nodded  his  head,  and  gazed  expectantly  at 
his  interlocutor. 

Miron's  face  beamed  with  quiet  joy,  he  touched  Foma's 
knee  with  his  hand,  and  began,  in  a  cordial  tone: 

"Burn  out  of  yourself  what  is  worldly,  for  there  is  no 
sweetness  in  it.  I  speak  the  righteous  word — depart  from 
evil.  Do  you  remember  how  it  is  said:  *  Blessed  is  the 
man  that  hath  not  walked  in  the  counsel  of  the  ungodly,  nor 
stood  in  the  way  of  sinners?'  Seclude  yourself,  refresh 
your  soul  with  solitude,  and  fill  yourself  with  the  thought 
of  the  Lord  .  .  For  only  by  the  thought  of  Him  can  a 
man  save  himself  from  defilement." 

"That's  not  what  I  want!"  said  Foma.  "There's  no 
need  for  me  to  work  out  my  salvation  as  an  ascetic — have  I 
sinned  greatly?  With  other  people,  it's  different  .  .  . 
What  I'd  like  to  comprehend  is    .    .    ." 

"  And  you  will  comprehend  it,  if  you  separate  yourself 
from  the  world  .  .  Go  you  forth  upon  the  free  road, 
upon  the  fields,  upon  the  steppes,  upon  the  plains,  upon 
the  mountains  ...  go  forth,  and  gaze  upon  the  world 
with  freedom^  from  afar    .    .    ." 

372 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

''There!"  cried  Foma.  "That's  exactly  what  I  think 
.    .    It  is  better  seen  from  one  side." 

But  Miron,  paying  no  heed  to  his  words,  went  on  talking 
as  softly  as  though  his  speech  concerned  some  great  secret, 
known  only  to  him,  the  pilgrim: 

"  The  forests,  dreaming  in  primeval  denseness,  will  begin 
to  rustle  all  about  thee,  with  sweet  voices,  touching  the 
wisdom  of  the  Lord;  God's  little  birds  will  sing  to  thee  of 
His  holy  glory,  and  the  plume-grass  of  the  steppes  will  burn 
incense  to  the  All-Holy  Virgin  Birth-Giver  of  God." 

The  voice  of  the  pilgrim  now  rose  and  quivered  with 
fulness  of  feeling,  now  sank  to  a  mysterious  whisper.  He 
seemed  to  have  grown  younger:  his  eyes  shone  so  con- 
fidently and  clearly,  and  his  whole  countenance  beamed  with 
the  happy  smile  of  a  man  who  has  found  a  vent  for  his 
sentiment  of  happiness,  and  exults  as  he  pours  it  forth. 

"  In  every  tiny  blade  of  grass  beats  the  heart  of  the  Lord; 
every  insect,  of  the  earth  and  of  the  air,  breathes  forth 
His  Holy  Spirit:  everywhere  God — the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
liveth!  What  beauty  there  is  on  the  earth,  in  the  meadows, 
in  the  forests!  Have  you  been  on  the  Kerzhenetz?  The 
tranquillity  there  is  beyond  compare,  the  trees,  the  grass — 
are  like  paradise    .    .    ." 

Foma  listened,  and  his  imagination,  captivated  by  the 
quiet,  entrancing  narrative,  depicted  to  him  those  broad 
meadows  and  dense  forests,  full  of  beauty  and  silence,  so 
pacifying  to  the  soul    .    .    . 

"  You  look  up  at  the  sky,  as  you  lie  under  a  bush,  and 
it  keeps  descending,  descending  to  you,  as  though  it  wanted 
to  embrace  you  .  .  Your  soul  is  warm  and  quietly- joyful, 
you  desire  nothing,  you  envy  no  one  .  .  .  And  so  it 
seems  as  though,  on  all  the  earth,  there  were  only  you  and 
God    .    .    ." 

373 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  pilgrim  continued  to  talk,  but  his  voice  and  sing- 
song speech  reminded  Foma  of  his  old  Aunt  Anfisa's  won- 
derful fairy-tales.  He  felt  as  though,  after  a  long  journey 
on  a  hot  day,  he  were  drinking  the  pure,  cold  water  of  a 
forest  brook, — water  impregnated  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
grass  and  flowers  which  it  had  bathed  .  .  .  Ever  more 
widely  opened  out  before  him  brilliant  pictures:  here  was 
the  path  which  led  into  the  primeval  forest;  through  the 
branches  of  the  trees  slender  rays  of  sunlight  made  their 
way,  quivering  in  the  air,  and  under  the  feet  of  the  way- 
farer .  .  .  There  is  a  savory  odor  of  mushrooms  and 
damp,  decaying  foliage;  the  honeyed  aroma  of  flowers,  the 
thick  odor  of  the  pine-trees  perfume  the  air,  and  penetrate 
the  breast  in  a  warm,  rich  stream  .  .  .  All  around  is 
silence:  only  the  birds  are  singing,  and  this  silence  is  so 
marvellous,  that  it  seems  as  though  the  birds  were  singing 
in  your  own  breast  .  .  .  You  stroll  on,  without  haste, 
and  your  life  goes  on  like  a  dream. 

But  here,  everything  is  enveloped  in  gray,  dead  fog,  and 
we  struggle  in  it,  grieving  for  freedom  and  light.  Now, 
with  barely  audible  voices,  they  have  started  something  on 
the  lower  deck  which  is  not  exactly  a  song,  nor  yet  exactly 
a  prayer.  Again  someone  shouts,  curses.  And  still  the 
way  must  be  sought: 

"  Seven  and  a  ha-alf    .    .    .    Se-ven!  " 

"  And  you  have  no  care  about  anything,'^  said  the  pilgrim, 
and  his  voice  purled  like  a  brook, — "  anybody  will  give  you 
a  morsel  of  bread;  and  what  else  does  a  free  man  like  you 
require?  In  the  world,  cares  lay  themselves,  like  chains, 
upon  the  soul." 

"  You  talk  well!  "  said  Foma  with  a  sigh. 

"  My  dear  brother! "  exclaimed  the  pilgrim  softly,  mov- 
ing still  closer  to  him. — "  If  your  soul  has  waked  up,  if  it 

374 


Foma  Gordy^efT 

longs  for  freedom,  do  not  lull  it  to  sleep  by  force,  hearken 
to  its  voice  ...  In  the  world,  in  its  allurements,  there 
is  no  beauty,  no  holiness — wherefore,  why  submit  yourself 
to  its  law?  In  John  Chrysostom  it  is  said:  ^Man  is  the 
true  shekinah! '  But  shekinah  is  a  Hebrew  word,  and  it 
signifies,  the  holy  of  holies.    Consequently    .    .    ." 

A  prolonged  shriek  of  the  whistle  drowned  his  voice.  He 
listened,  rose  quickly  from  the  divan,  and  said: 

"They  are  whistling  for  the  wharf. — I  must  go!  Well, 
good-bye,  brother!  The  Lord  grant  thee  firmness  and 
strength  to  do  according  to  the  desire  of  thy  soul!  Farewell, 
my  dear  man! " 

He  bowed  low  to  Foma.  There  was  something  soft  and 
caressing,  like  a  woman,  in  his  parting  words  and  bow. 
And  Foma,  also,  bowed  low  to  him,  bowed,  and  became 
motionless,  as  he  stood  with  drooping  head,  and  his  hand 
resting  on  the  table. 

"  If  you  are  in  town,  come  to  see  me,"  he  invited  the 
pilgrim,  who  was  hastily  turning  the  handle  of  the  cabin 
door. 

"I  will!    nicome!    Farewell!    Christ  save  you!  " 

When  the  steamer  butted  her  side  against  the  wharf  Foma 
went  out  on  the  gallery,  and  stood  gazing  down  into  the 
fog.  People  were  passing  down  the  gangways  from  the 
steamer,  but  amid  these  dark  figures,  enveloped  in  thick 
mist,  he  did  not  recognize  the  pilgrim.  All  who  left  the 
boat  were  equally  indistinct,  and  all  speedily  vanished  from 
sight,  as  though  they  had  melted  into  the  gray  dampness. 
Neither  the  shore  nor  anything  else  stable  was  visible,  the 
landing  rocked  with  the  commotion  produced  by  the 
steamer,  and  on  it  rocked  the  yellow  speck  of  a  lantern;  the 
noise  of  footsteps  and  the  turmoil  of  the  people  was  dead- 
ened. 

375 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  steamer  pushed  off,  and  slowly  moved  forward  into 
the  clouds.  The  pilgrim,  the  wharf,  the  murmur  of  peo- 
ple's voices,  all  vanished  suddenly,  like  a  dream,  and  once 
more  nothing  remained  save  the  dense  obscurity  and  the 
steamer  rolling  heavily  through  it.  Foma  stared  ahead  into 
the  dead  sea  of  fog,  and  thought  of  the  blue,  cloudless, 
smiling  sky — where  was  it? 

On  the  following  day,  about  noon,  he  was  seated  in  Ez- 
hoff's  tiny  room,  and  listening  to  the  news  of  the  town  from 
the  mouth  of  his  chum.  Ezhoff  had  climbed  upon  the 
table,  which  was  loaded  down  with  newspapers,  and  dan- 
gling his  feet,  was  narrating: 

"  The  election  campaign  has  begun,  the  merchant  class 
are  pushing  your  god-father  to  the  head,  the  old  devil!  Like 
the  devil,  he  is  immortal — although  he  must  be  over  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  old  already.  He  is  going  to  marry 
his  daughter  to  Smolin  .  .  you  remember  him,  the  red- 
headed one!  People  say  that  he  is  a  very  gentlemanly  sort 
of  fellow  .  .  .  but  now-a-days,  even  clever  rascals  are 
called  gentlemanly  fellows  .  .  .  because  there  are  no 
men!  Now  little  Afrikan  is  putting  on  the  airs  of  an  en- 
lightened person,  he  has  already  succeeded  in  making  his 
way  into  cultivated  society,  he  contributed  something  to 
some  undertaking  or  other,  and  immediately  became  promi- 
nent. Judging  from  his  phiz,  he's  a  first-class  sharper,  but 
he  will  play  his  part,  for  he  possesses  a  sense  of  proportion. 
We-ell,  now,  dear  little  brother  Afrikan  is  a  liberal  .  . 
But  a  liberal  merchant  is  a  mixture  of  a  wolf  and  a  pig  with 
a  toad  and  a  snake    .    ." 

"  Deuce  take  the  whole  lot  of  them! "  said  Foma,  with 
an  indifferent  wave  of  the  hand. — "  What  have  I  to  do 
with  them?    How  about  yourself — do  you  still  drink?'' 

"Yes!    Why  shouldn't  I?" 

376 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  half-clad  and  dishevelled  Ezhoff  resembled  a  bird 
stripped  of  its  feathers,  which  has  just  been  engaged  in  a 
fight,  and  has  not  succeeded  in  recovering  from  the  excite- 
ment of  battle. 

"  I  drink  because  I  feel  the  need,  from  time  to  time,  of 
quenching  the  flame  of  my  humiliated  heart  .  .  But 
you,  you  dry  stump,  are  you  gradually  decaying?  ^' 

"  I  must  go  to  the  old  man,'^  said  Foma,  wrinkling  up 
his  face. 

"  Kisk  it! " 

"I  don't  want  to  .  .  .  He'll  begin  to  lecture 
me    .    .    ." 

"  Then  don't  go!  '* 

"  But  I  must." 

"Then  go!" 

"  Why  are  you  always  so  flippant?  "  asked  Foma  with  dis- 
pleasure.   "  It  seems  as  though  he  actually  enjoyed    .    .    ." 

"  By  God,  I  always  do  enjoy  things!  "  exclaimed  Ezhoff, 
springing  from  the  table. — "  What  a  fine  dressing-down  I 
gave  a  certain  gentleman  in  the  paper  yes-terday!  And 
then,  I  have  heard  a  very  witty  anecdote:  A  party  was 
sitting  on  the  seashore,  philosophizing  at  length  upon  life. 
And  a  Jew  said  to  them:  *  Jantlemens!  why-y  sho  many 
different  wordsh?  I'll  shay  every  dings  to  you  at  onsh:  our 
lifes  is  not  vorth  von  kopek,  like  this  stormy  sea! '  " 

"  Eh,  that's  just  like  you!  "  said  Foma.  "  Good-bye  .  . 
I'm  going." 

"  Go  ahead!  I'm  in  a  top-lofty  mood  today,  and  I  can't 
groan  with  you  .  .  all  the  more  so  as  you  don't  groan,  but 
grunt    .    ." 

Foma  departed,  leaving  Ezhoff  singing,  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs: 

'*  Rattle  away  on  the  dru-u-um,  and  hare  no  fear    .     .** 

377 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"  The  drum — ^you're  a  drum  yourself,"  thought  Foma  with 
irritation,  as  he  hastily  emerged  into  the  street. 

At  Mayakin^s  house  he  was  met  by  Liuba.  She  suddenly 
appeared  before  him  agitated  and  animated  for  some  reason, 
saying  quickly: 

"Is  it  you?  Good  heavens!  Ho-ow  pale  you  are!  .  . 
How  thin  you  have  grown  .  .  You  lead  a  nice  life,  that's 
evident! " 

Then  her  face  contracted  with  alarm,  and  she  cried,  al- 
most in  a  whisper: 

"Akh,  Foma!  You  don't  know — for  you  see — there! 
Do  you  hear?  Someone  is  ringing  the  bell!  Perhaps  it  is 
he!" 

And  the  young  giri  rushed  from  the  room,  leaving  be- 
hind her  in  the  air  the  rustle  of  her  silken  gown,  and  the 
astounded  Foma,  who  had  not  managed  even  to  ask  her 
where  her  father  was.  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  was  at  home. 
Attired  in  his  best,  in  a  long  frock-coat,  with  his  medals  on 
his  breast,  he  stood  in  the  doorway  with  hands  outspread, 
holding  fast  to  the  jambs.  His  little  green  eyes  searched 
Foma,  and  feeling  their  gaze  upon  him,  the  latter  raised 
his  head,  and  encountered  them. 

"  Good  morning,  my  fine  sir!  "  began  the  old  man,  shak- 
ing his  head  reproachfully. — "  Whence  has  it  pleased  you 
to  arrive?  Who  has  sucked  all  that  fat  off  you?  Or  does 
a  pig  seek  a  puddle  and  Foma  the  worst  place  he  can 
find?"^ 

"Have  you  no  other  words  for  me?"  asked  Foma  sul- 
lenly, staring  point-blank  at  the  old  man. 

*  Expressed  in  rhyme,  and  more  succinctly  in  the  Russian  :  "  Svinya 
ishtchet  gdye  liizha,  i  Foma  gdye  khiizhe  " ;  the  pigs  seek  where  there 
is  a  puddle,  and  Foma  where  it  is  worst. —  Translaior. 

%J  JO 


Fomi  Gordyeeff 

And  all  at  once  he  perceived  that  his  god-father  was 
trembling  all  over,  his  legs  were  shaking,  his  eyes  were 
winking  incessantly,  and  his  hands  were  clutching  the  door- 
jambs  with  strained  intensity.  Foma  moved  towards  him, 
supposing  that  the  old  man  was  feeling  ill,  but  Yakoff 
Tarasovitch  said,  in  a  dull,  angry  voice: 

"  Stand  aside    .    .    go  away    .    .    ." 

And  his  face  assumed  its  wonted  expression. 

Foma  stepped  back,  and  found  himself  by  the  side  of  a 
short,  plump  man,  who,  bowing  to  Yakoff  Tarasovitch,  said 
in  a  hoarse  voice: 

**  How  do  you  do,  papa? '' 

"  Good  mo-orning,  Taras  Yakovlevitch,  good  morning,** 
said  the  old  man,  without  removing  his  hands  from  the. 
door-jambs,  and  saluted  with  a  preoccupied  smile. 

Foma,  in  confusion,  retreated  to  one  side,  seated  himself 
in  an  arm-chair,  and  petrified  with  curiosity,  began  to  watch, 
with  staring  eyes,  the  meeting  between  father  and  son. 

The  father,  standing  in  the  doorway,  swayed  his  lean 
body  to  and  fro,  clinging  to  the  door-posts  with  his  hands, 
and,  with  head  bent  on  one  side,  and  eyes  screwed  up,  gazed 
in  silence  at  his  son.  The  son  stood  three  paces  away,  with 
his  head,  already  sprinkled  with  gray,  held  high,  with  lower- 
ing brows,  and  gazing  at  his  father  with  his  large,  dark 
eyes.  His  small,  black  pointed  beard  and  small  mustache 
quivered  on  his  thin  face,  with  its  cartilaginous  nose,  in- 
herited from  his  father.  And  his  hat,  also,  trembled  in  his 
hand.  Over  his  shoulder  Foma  beheld  Liiiba^s  pale,  fright- 
ened and  joyous  face — she  was  regarding  her  father  with  be- 
seeching eyes,  and  it  seemed  as  though  she  were  on  the  very 
verge  of  shrieking  aloud.  For  a  few  seconds  they  all  re- 
mained silent  and  motionless,  overwhelmed  with  the  im- 
mensity of  their  feelings.    The  silence  was  broken  by  the 

379 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

quiet,  strangely  dull  and  trembling  voice  of  Yako5  Ma- 
yakin: 

"  You  have  aged,  Taras    .    .    /' 

The  son  laughed  silently  in  his  father's  face,  and  with 
one  swift  glance  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot. 

The  father,  wrenching  his  hands  from  the  door-posts,  ad- 
vanced towards  his  son — and  suddenly  stopped  short,  with  a 
frown.  Then  Taras  Mayakin,  with  one  huge  stride,  stepped 
in  front  of  his  father,  and  offered  him  his  hand. 

"  Oome  .  .  let  us  kiss  each  other,"  suggested  the  old 
man  softly. 

The  two  old  men  threw  their  arms  convulsively  round 
each  other,  exchanged  hearty  kisses,  and  then  stood  off  from 
each  other.  The  wrinkles  of  the  older  man  quivered,  the 
lean  face  of  the  younger  was  immovable,  almost  harsh.  The 
kisses  had  effected  no  change  in  the  external  aspect  of  this 
scene,  only  Liuboff  gave  a  sob  of  joy,  and  Foma  fidgetted 
awkwardly  in  his  chair,  feeling  as  though  his  breath  were 
being  stopped. 

"  Ekh  .  .  .  children  .  .  .  you  are  wounds  to  the 
heart  .  .  .  and  not  its  joy  .  .  . — "  complained  Yakoff 
Tarasovitch,  in  a  ringing  voice,  and  he  must  have  put  a 
great  deal  into  the  remark,  for  immediately  afterwards  he 
beamed,  became  brisk,  and  began  to  talk  with  a  dash,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  his  daughter: 

"Well,  have  you  turned  weak  with  joy?  Come  on,  pre- 
pare something  for  us — tea,  and  so  forth  .  .  ,  We'll 
entertain  the  prodigal  son!  You've  probably  forgotten,  my 
dear  little  old  man,  what  sort  of  a  father  you  have  ?  " 

Taras  Mayakin  surveyed  his  parent  with  a  meditative  look 
in  his  large  eyes,  and  smiled;  he  was  taciturn,  clad  in  black, 
which  made  the  gray  hair  on  his  head  and  in  his  beard  stand 
out  the  more  conspicuously. 

380 


Foma  Gordy^eff 


"Come,  sit  down!  Tell  me — how  you  have  lived;  what 
have  you  done? — What  are  you  staring  at?  Ah!  This  is  my 
god-son,  Ignat  GordyeeS's  son,  Foma  .  .  .  You  re- 
member Ignat?  " 

"  I  remember  everything,"  said  Taras. 

"Oh?  That's  good  .  .  .  if  you're  not  bragging  .  • 
Well,  are  you  married?  " 

"  I'm  a  widower." 

"  Have  you  children?  " 

"  They  are  dead    .    .    I  had  two    .    .    ." 

"It's  a  pi-ity  ,  .  I'd  have  liked  some  grand-chil- 
dren   .    ." 

"  May  I  smoke?  "  Taras  asked  his  father. 

"  Go  ahead!  .  .  .  You  don't  say  that  you  smoke 
cigars?  " 

"Don't  you  like  them?" 

"I?  Go  on,  I  don't  mind  ...  I  only  meant  it  was 
rather  like  the  gentry    .    .    to  smoke  cigars    .    .    ." 

"  And  why  should  I  consider  myself  inferior  to  the  gen- 
try? "  said  Taras,  laughing. 

"  Do  I  consider  myself  inferior  then?! "  exclaimed  the 
old  man. — "I  merely  said — that  it  seemed  ridiculous  to 
me  .  .  Such  a  staid  old  fellow  .  .  .  beard  in  foreign 
fashion,  cigar  in  mouth  .  .  .  Who  is  he?  My  little  son 
.  .  he-he-he!  " — The  old  man  slapped  Taras  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  jumped  away  from  him,  as  though  alarmed  lest 
he  were  rejoicing  too  soon,  lest  that  might  not  be  the  proper 
way  to  treat  a  man  whose  hair  was  half  gray.  And  he  gazed 
inquisitively  and  suspiciously  at  his  son's  large  eyes,  en- 
circled by  yellowish  swellings. 

Taras  smiled  into  his  father's  face  with  a  courteous,  cor- 
dial smile,  and  said  to  him  thoughtfully: 

"That's  the  way  I  remember  you    .    .    jolly  and  alert 

381 


Fom&  Gordy^eff 

,   ,   .   You  seem  not  to  have  changed  in  the  least  during  all 
these  years/' 

The  old  man  drew  himself  up  proudly,  and  dealing  him- 
self a  blow  on  the  chest  with  his  fist,  said: 

"I — never  change!  .  .  .  Because,  life  has  no  power 
over  a  man  who  knows  his  own  value!    Isn't  that  so?  " 

"Oho!    How  proud  you  are!  " 

"  I  must  take  after  my  son!  "  remarked  the  old  man,  with 
a  sly  grimace. — "  My  good  sir,  I  have  a  son  who  has  main- 
tained silence  for  seventeen  years  out  of  pride    .    ." 

"  That  was  because  his  father  would  not  listen  to  him," 
Taras  reminded  him. 

"That's  all  right  now!  There's  been  enough  of  that 
.  .  .  God  only  knows  which  is  to  blame  toward  the  other 
.  .  .  He  is  just.  He  will  tell  you — wait!  But  I  shall 
hold  my  peace  .  .  .  This  is  no  time  for  you  and  me  to 
discuss  that  matter  now  .  .  .  Now,  see  here,  tell  me 
what  you  have  been  doing  all  these  years.  How  did  you 
hit  upon  that  soda  factory?  Have  you  become  a  man  of 
mark?" 

"  It's  a  long  story! "  said  Taras  with  a  sigh,  and  emitting 
from  his  mouth  a  huge  puff  of  smoke,  he  began  deliberately: 
— "  When  I  acquired  the  possibility  of  living  at  liberty,  I 
entered  the  office  of  the  superintendent  at  the  Eemezoffs' 
gold  mines    .    .    ." 

"I  know  .  .  immensely  wealthy  people!  Three  broth- 
ers— I  know  them  all!  One,  is  a  monster,  the  second  is  a 
fool,  and  the  third  is  a  miser    .    .    Go  on!  " 

"  I  served  two  years  under  him — and  then  I  married  his 
daughter    .    ."  narrated  Ma)^akin  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  The  superintendent's?  That  wasn't  a  stupid  thing  to 
do    .    .    ." 

Taras  reflected,  and  remained  silent.  The  old  man  cast 
a  glance  at  his  sad  face,  and  understood  his  son. 

382 


Fomi  Gordy^eff 


u 


Of  course,  you  lived  happily  with  your  wife,"  said  he.— 
"  Well,  what  next?  To  the  dead — paradise,  and  let  the  liv- 
ing play  on  .  .  You're  not  so  very  old  .  .  Have  you  been 
a  widower  long?" 

"  Two  years." 

"So     .    .    And  how  did  you  get  interested  in  soda?  " 

"  The  factory  belongs  to  my  father-in-law    .    ." 

"  Aha!    How  much  do  you  get?  " 

"  About  five  thousand    .    ." 

"  Mm  .  .  .  that's  not  a  stale  morsel!  We-ell,  ye-es! 
Here's  a  hard-labor  convict  for  you!  " 

Taras  cast  a  firm  glance  at  his  father,  and  drily  inquired: 

"By  the  way — where  did  you  get  the  idea  that  I  had 
been  a  convict?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  his  son  with  amazement,  which  was 
speedily  converted  into  joy: 

"Ah  .  .  how  was  it  then?  You  were  not?  0,  you 
don't  say  so!  Then — ^how  was  it?  Don't  feel  offended! 
How  could  I  tell?  They  said  you  had  been  in  Siberia! 
Well,  and  the  galleys  are  there!  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  making  an  end  of  this,  once  for  all," 
said  Taras  seriously  and  impressively,  slapping  his  knee 
with  his  hand, — "  I  will  tell  you  now  exactly  the  state  of 
the  case.  I  was  banished  to  Siberia,  simply  to  reside  there, 
for  six  years,  and  I  spent  the  whole  period  of  my  exile  in 
the  mining  region  of  the  Lena  .  .  I  passed  about  nine 
months  in  prison  in  Moscow  .  .  and  that's  all  there  is  to 
it!" 

"  You  don't  sa-ay  so!  But  .  .  .  what  does  it  mean?  " 
.  .  muttered  Yakoff  Tarasovitch,  discomfited  and  de- 
lighted. 

"And  then  that  absurd  report  was  put  in  circula- 
tion   .    .    ." 

383 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

*'  Absurd  indeed/'  grieved  the  old  man. 

"  And  it  did  me  a  pretty  bad  turn  on  one  occasion    .    ,    ." 

"What?    Eeally?" 

"  Yes    ...    I  was  about  to  start  in  business,  and  my 
credit  was  ruined,  thanks  to    .    .    ." 

"  Phew! "  and  Yakoff  Mayakin  spat  angrily  to  one  side. 
— "  Akh,  the  devil!    You  don't  mean  to  say!  " 

All  this  time,  Foma  sat  in  his  corner  listening  to  the  con- 
versation of  the  Mayakins,  persistently  scrutinizing  the 
newcomer,  and  blinking  with  amazement.  Calling  to  mind 
Liuboff's  relations  to  her  brother,  and  being  influenced,  to 
a  certain  degree,  by  her  stories  about  Taras,  he  had  ex- 
pected to  detect  in  his  countenance  something  unusual, 
something  unlike  the  ordinary  run  of  people.  He  had 
thought  that  Taras  would  speak  peculiarly,  somehow,  and 
would  be  dressed  after  a  fashion  of  his  own,  and,  in  general 
— that  he  would  be  different  from  other  people.  But  before 
him  sat  a  sedate,  full-bodied  man,  severely  clad,  with  severe 
eyes,  very  like  his  father  in  face,  and  distinguished  from 
him  only  by  his  cigar  and  his  small  black  beard.  He  talked 
in  a  curt,  business-like  way,  about  such  simple  things — 
where  was  there  anything  peculiar  about  him?  And  now 
he  began  to  tell  his  father  about  the  profits  in  the  manu- 
facture of  soda  .  .  He  had  not  been  a  convict — Liuboff 
had  made  a  mistake!  And  Foma  found  it  agreeable  to 
picture  to  himself  how  he  would  talk  her  brother  over  with 
Liuboff. 

More  than  once,  during  her  father's  conversation,  had  she 
made  her  appearance  in  the  doorway.  Her  face  was  beam- 
ing with  happiness,  and  her  eyes  surveyed  with  rapture  the 
black  form  of  Taras,  clothed  in  such  a  peculiar  thick  coat, 
with  pockets  on  the  sides,  and  large  buttons.  She  walked 
on  tiptoe,  and  kept  stretching  out  her  neck  in  the  direction 

384 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

of  her  brother.  Foma  glanced  inquiringly  at  her,  but  she 
did  not  notice  him,  but  kept  running  back  and  forth  con- 
stantly past  the  door,  with  plates  and  bottles  in  her  hands. 

It  so  happened  that  she  glanced  into  the  room  precisely 
at  the  moment  when  her  brother  was  telling  her  father 
about  the  convict  affair.  She  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  hold- 
ing a  tray  in  her  outstretched  hands,  and  listened  to  every- 
thing her  brother  said  about  the  punishment  inflicted  on 
him.  She  listened — and  slowly  went  away,  without  having 
caught  Foma's  surprised  and  derisive  glance.  Engrossed 
in  his  reflections  concerning  Taras,  and  somewhat  offended 
because  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  him,  and  because 
Taras,  since  he  had  shaken  hands  with  him,  when  they  made 
acquaintance,  had  never  once  glanced  at  him, — Foma  ceased, 
for  a  minute,  to  follow  the  conversation  of  the  Mayakins, 
and  suddenly  felt  himself  grasped  by  the  shoulder.  He 
started,  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  almost  overturning  his  god- 
father, who  was  standing  before  him  with  an  excited  coun- 
tenance: 

"  There — look!  There's — a  man  for  you!  That's  what 
a  Mayakin  is  like!  They  have  boiled  him  in  seven-fold  lye, 
they  have  squeezed  the  oil  out  of  him,  but  he's  alive!  And 
rich!  Do  you  understand?  Without  any  help  whatever  .  . 
alone,  he  has  forced  his  own  way  to  his  own  place  and — 
he  is  proud!  That  signifies  that  he's  a  Mayakin!  A  Maya- 
kin  signifies  a  man,  who  holds  his  fate  in  his  own  hands  .  . 
Do  you  understand?  Take  pattern!  Look  at  him!  .  . 
There's  not  such  another  in  a  hundred — and  you'd  have  to 
search  to  find  one  such  in  a  thousand  .  .  Wha-at?  Now 
you  must  know:  You  can't  forge  a  Mayakin  over  from  a 
man  into  either  a  devil  or  an  angel    .    .    P 

Stunned  by  this  tempestuous  attack,  Fomd  became  con- 
fused, and  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  the  old  man  in  reply 


Fom^  Gordy^eff 

to  his  noisy  boasts.  He  saw  that  Taras  was  staring  at  his 
father,  as  he  quietly  smoked  away  at  his  cigar,  and  that  the 
corners  of  his  lips  were  quivering  with  laughter.  His  face 
was  patronizingly-contented,  and  his  whole  figure  had 
something  of  well-bred  haughtiness  about  it.  He  seemed  to 
be  amused  by  the  old  man's  joy. 

But  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  poked  Foma  in  the  chest  with 
his  finger,  and  said: 

"  I  don't  know  him,  my  own  son  .  .  he  hasn't  opened 
his  soul  to  me  .  .  Perhaps  such  a  difference  has  sprung 
up  between  us,  that  not  only  can  the  eagle  not  fly — but 
even  the  devil  cannot  make  his  way  across  it  .  .  .  Per- 
haps his  blood  has  over-boiled  so  that  not  even  the  scent  of 
his  father's  is  left  in  it  .  .  but — he's  a  Mayakin!  And 
I  discern  it  instantly  .  .  I  discern  it,  and  I  say:  *  Now 
lettest  thou  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace,  0  Lord! ' " 

The  old  man  was  quivering  all  over  with  the  fever  of  his 
exultation,  and  fairly  danced  up  and  down  as  he  stood  in 
front  of  Foma. 

"  Come,  calm  yourself,  my  dear  father! "  said  Taras,  ris- 
ing from  his  chair  in  a  leisurely  manner,  and  approaching 
his  father. — "Why  disturb  the  young  man?  Come,  sit 
down    .    ." 

He  smiled  in  an  easy  way  at  Foma,  and  taking  his  father 
by  the  arm,  led  him  to  the  table. 

"  I  believe  in  blood!  "  said  Yakoff  Tarasovitch. — "  In 
blood  of  race — all  power  lies  in  it!  My  father,  I  remember, 
said  to  me:  *  Yashka!  You  are  my  genuine  blood! '  You 
see — the  blood  of  the  Mayakins  is  thick — it  is  transfused 
from  father  to  father,  and  no  woman  ever  dilutes  it.  But 
we  will  drink  some  champagne!  Shall  we?  Well,  all  right! 
Tell  me  again  .  .  tell  me  about  yourself  .  .  what  it  is 
like  off  there  in  Siberia  ?  " 

386 


Foma  Gordyeefif 

And  once  more,  as  though  frightened  and  sobered  by 
some  idea,  the  old  man  fixed  searching  eyes  upon  his  son's 
face.  And  a  few  minutes  later,  his  son's  circumstantial  but 
brief  replies  again  aroused  him  to  noisy  rapture.  Foma  con- 
tinued to  listen  and  to  watch,  as  he  sat  peaceably  on  in  his 
corner. 

"  Gold  mining,  of  course,  is  a  solid  business,"  said  Taras 
calmly  and  with  dignity,  "  but  nevertheless,  it  is  a  risky 
operation,  and  one  which  demands  large  capital  .  .  The 
earth  says  not  a  word  about  what  it  has  inside  of  it  .  .  It 
is  very  profitable  to  deal  with  the  natives  .  .  Trading 
with  them,  even  if  one  is  only  indifferently  fitted  out,  yields 
an  enormous  percentage.  That  U  a  perfectly  safe  enterprise 
.  .  But  it  is  tiresome,  it  must  be  admitted.  It  does  not 
require  much  brains,  .  .  nowhere  does  it  develop  an 
extraordinary  man,  a  man  of  large  dimensions    .    .    ." 

Liuboff  entered,  and  invited  them  all  into  the  dining- 
room.  When  the  Mayakins  betook  themselves  thither, 
Foma  unperceived  plucked  Liuboff  by  the  sleeve,  and  she 
remained  alone  with  him,  inquiring  hastily: 

"  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  Nothing  .  ."  said  Foma,  with  a  smile. — "  I  want  to 
ask  you  if  you  are  glad?  " 

"  Of  course!  "  exclaimed  Liuboff. 

"What  about?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"Just  that    .    .    What  about?" 

"  You're  queer!  "  said  Liuboff,  casting  a  glance  of  amaze- 
ment at  him.    "  Can't  you  see?  " 

"  What?  "  asked  Foma,  derisively. 

"  Fie!  What  ails  you?  "  said  Liuboff,  looking  uneasily  at 
him. 

"Ekh — you  goose!"  drawled  Foma  aloud,  with  con- 

387 


Foma  Gordydeff 

temptuous  pity. — "  Can  anything  good  be  born  of  your 
father — can  anything  good  be  born  in  our  merchant  class? 
As  well  expect  raspberries  from  a  radish! — But  you  told  me  a 
lie:  Taras  is  this,  Taras  is  that  .  .  What  is  there  about 
him?  He's  just  a  merchant,  nothing  more  .  .  And  he 
has  the  real  merchant's  paunch.  He-he! " — He  was  grati- 
fied to  note  that  the  young  girl,  disconcerted  by  his  remarks, 
was  biting  her  lips,  now  flushing,  now  paling. 

"  You  .  .  you,  Fomd  .  .  ."  she  began,  with  a  sigh, 
and  suddenly  stamping  her  foot,  she  screamed  at  him: 

"  Don't  dare  to  talk  to  me!  " 

On  the  threshold  of  the  room  she  turned  toward  him 
her  angry  face,  and  in  an  undertone,  with  energy,  she  hurled 
at  him: 

"  Ugh,  you  hateful  thing!  " 

Foma  broke  out  laughing.  He  did  not  wish  to  go  to  the 
table,  where  sat  three  happy  people,  animatedly  chatting 
with  one  another.  He  heard  their  merry  voices,  their  con- 
tented laughter,  the  rattle  of  the  dishes,  and  comprehended 
J  that  there  was  no  place  beside  them  for  him,  with  that 
Iburden  on  his  heart.  And  there  was  no  place  for  him  any- 
\  where.  If  all  people  only  hated  him — like  Liuboff  just 
now, — he  would  be  more  at  his  ease  among  them, — ^he 
\  thought.  Then  he  would  know  how  to  behave  toward  them, 
he  would  find  something  to  say  to  them.  But  now — it  was 
incomprehensible :  whether  they  were  pitying  him,  or  laugh- 
ing at  him,  because  he  had  lost  his  way,  and  could  not  ac- 
commodate himself  to  anything.  As  he  stood  alone  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  Foma,  unconsciously  to  himself,  re- 
solved to  go  away  from  this  house,  where  people  were  re- 
joicing, and  where  he  was  superfluous.  As  he  emerged  into 
the  street,  he  felt  offended  at  the  Mayakins:  yet  they  were 
the  only  people  in  the  world  who  stood  near  to  him.    Before 

388 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

him  surged  up  the  face  of  his  god-father,  on  which  the 
wrinkles  were  quivering  with  emotion;  illuminated  by  the 
joyous  gleam  of  his  green  eyes,  it  seemed  to  beam  with  a 
phosphorescent  light. 

"  He  shines  in  darkness  and  decay,"  he  reflected,  vi- 
ciously. Then  he  recalled  Taras's  calm,  serious  counte- 
nance, and  beside  it,  the  figure  of  Liuboff  rushing  impetu- 
ously toward  it.    This  aroused  within  him  envy — and  sorrow. 

"  Who  will  gaze  at  me  like  that?    Not  a  soul    ..."     ' 

He  came  to  himself  from  his  meditations  on  the  quay, 
at  the  wharves,  aroused  by  the  noise  of  toil.  Various  articles 
and  wares  were  being  carried  and  driven  in  every  direction; 
people  were  moving  about  briskly,  urging  on  their  horses  ir- 
ritably, shouting  at  one  another,  filling  the  street  with  un- 
intelligible bustle,  and  the  deafening  uproar  of  hurried 
labor.  They  were  rushing  about  on  the  narrow  strip  of 
ground  paved  with  stone,  built  up,  on  one  side,  with  lofty 
houses,  on  the  other  cut  off  by  a  steep  ravine  toward  the 
river,  and  their  seething  turmoil  produced  upon  Foma  the 
impression  that  they  were  all  assembled  together  to  flee  f  romi 
this  toil  in  mire,  narrow  quarters  and  noise — ^had  assembled 
to  flee,  and  were  hurrying  to  finish  off,  after  a  fashion,  what' 
remained  undone  and  would  not  release  them.  Huge 
steamers  were  already  awaiting  them,  standing  along  the 
shore,  and  emitting  columns  of  smoke  from  their  funnels. 
The  turbid  water  of  the  river,  closely  covered  with  vessels, 
plashed  plaintively  and  softly  against  the  shores,  as  though 
entreating  that  a  minute's  rest  and  repose  might  be  granted 
to  it. 

"  Your  Honor! "  rang  out  a  hoarse  cry  just  over  Foma's 
ear. — "  Contribute  a  measure  of  liquor  in  honor  of  the 
building!  " 

Foma  glanced  indifferently  at  the  petitioner:   he  was  a 

389 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

huge,  bearded  fellow,  bare-footed,  with  a  tattered  shirt,  and 
a  bruised,  swollen  face. 

"  Go  away!  "  muttered  Foma,  and  turned  away  from  him. 

"  Merchant!  You  must  die — you  can't  take  your  money 
with  you — give  me  enough  for  a  small  glass!  Or  are  you 
too  lazy  to  put  your  hand  in  your  pocket?  " 

Foma  took  another  look  at  the  petitioner:  the  latter 
stood  before  him,  covered  more  with  mud  than  with  cloth- 
ing, and  shaking  with  intoxication,  waited  persistently, 
staring  Foma  in  the  face  with  swollen,  blood-shot  eyes. 

"  Is  that  the  way  to  ask?  "  Foma  inquired  of  him. 

"  What  do  you  want — is  a  man  to  go  down  on  his  knees 
for  the  sake  of  a  twenty-kopek  piece  ?  "  asked  the  tatter- 
demalion impudently. 

"  Take  that!  "  and  Foma  gave  him  some  small  change. 

"  Thanks  .  .  fifteen  kopeks  .  .  thanks!  But  if 
you'll  give  fifteen  more — I'll  crawl  on  all  fours  to  that  pot- 
house yonder — would  you  like  to  have  me?!  "  proposed  the 
man. 

"  Come,  let  me  alone! "  said  Foma,  waving  him  off  with 
his  arm. 

"  If  people  would  only  give  us  necessaries,  but  from  super- 
fluity God  has  delivered  us," — said  the  tatterdemalion,  and 
stepped  aside. 

Foma  gazed  after  him  and  thought: 

"  Now,  there's  a  ruined  man,  but  how  bold  he  is  .  .  He 
asks  alms  as  though  he  were  demanding  a  debt  .  .  . 
•Where  do  such  people  get  their  boldness?  " 

And,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  answered  himself: 

"  From  freedom  .  .  The  man  is  not  fettered  in  any  way 
/.  .  what  has  he  to  regret?  what  has  he  to  fear?  But  what 
^  do  I  fear?   What  do  I  regret?  " 

These  two  questions  seemed  to  smite  Foma's  heart,  and 

390 


Fomi  Gordy^eff 

called  forth  within  him  a  dull  amazement.  He  gazed  at  the 
movement  of  the  laboring  men,  and  meditated  obstinately: 
"  What  did  he  regret ?    What  did  he  fear?  " 

"Evidently,  I  shall  never  be  able  of  myself,  by  my  own\ 
strength,  to  get  out  anywhere  .  .  like  a  fool,  I  shall  move 
about  among  people — sneered  at  and  insulted  by  all  .  . 
Now,  if  they  would  only  repulse  me  .  .  if  they  would  only 
hate  me  .  .  then  .  .  .  then — '  take  yourself  off  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth!  .  .  Whether  you  like  it  or  not — ^be 
off! ' '' 

From  one  of  the  wharves  the  merry  song  of  "  The  Little 
Oaken  Cudgel  "  had  already  been  floating  through  the  air  for 
a  long  time.  The  stevedores  were  performing  some  labor 
which  required  brisk  movements,  and  were  adapting  the  song 
and  its  refrain  to  them. 

*'  In  the  taverns  the  great  merchants 
Are  drinking  liquors  thick, — " 

chanted  the  leader,  in  a  dashing  recitative.  The  guild 
chimed  in  unanimously: 

"  Hey,  there  little  oaken  cudgel,  heaye — ho  I " 
Then  the  basses* tossed  firm  sounds  into  the  air: 

"  Heave-ho ! " 
And  the  tenors  repeated  after  them: 

*'  Heave-ho ! " 

Foma  listened  to  the  song,  and  walked  toward  it,  along  the 
wharf.  There  he  saw  that  the  stevedores,  'arranged  in  two 
rows,  were  hauling  out  of  the  steamer's  hold  huge  casks  of 
salted  fish.  Dirty,  clad  in  red  shirts,  with  collars  unbut- 
toned, with  their  sleeves  rdled  up  on  their  aims,  which  were 

391 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

bare  to  the  elbow,  they  stood  over  the  hold,  and,  jesting  mer- 
rily, with  faces  animated  by  toil,  they  tugged  away,  all  to- 
gether, in  time  with  their  song,  at  the  ropes.  And  from  the 
hold  rose  up  the  high,  laughing  voice  of  an  invisible  leader: 

"  But  for  these  peasant  throats  of  ours 
There  is  not  enough  v6dka    .     .     ." 

And  the  guild,  loudly,  and  in  union,  like  one  vast  breast, 
sighed  forth: 

"  Ekh,  little  oaken  cudgel,  heave — ho!  " 

Foma  felt  pleased  yet  envious,  at  the  sight  of  this  labor, 
as  harmonious  as  music.  The  dirty  faces  of  the  stevedores 
were  illuminated  with  smiles,  the  work  was  easy,  it  was  going 
on  well,  and  the  song-leader  was  in  an  artistic  mood.  It  oc- 
curred to  Foma  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  toil  thus  in 
unison,  with  kindly  comrades,  to  a  cheerful  song,  to  rest 
from  labor,  to  drink  off  a  glass  of  vodka,  and  to  eat  greasy 
cabbage  soup,  prepared  by  the  fat  and  sprightly  matron  of 
the  guild. 

"  Look  Hvely,  lads,  look  lively  there!  "  rang  out  a  hoarse, 
unpleasant  voice  beside  him.  Foma  turned  round.  A  thick- 
set man,  with  a  huge  paunch,  was  tapping  on  the  floor  of  the 
wharf  with  a  walking-stick,  gazing  as  he  did  so  at  the  steve- 
dores, with  his  little  eyes,  then  he  said: 

"  Bawl  less,  and  work  more  briskly    .    ." 

His  face  and  neck  were  bathed  in  perspiration;  he  wiped 
it  off  every  minute,  with  his  left  hand,  and  breathed  as  heav- 
ily as  though  he  were  climbing  a  mountain. 

Foma  looked  inimically  at  this  man,  and  said  to  himself: 

"  The  men  are  toiling,  but  he  is  sweating    .    .    .    And  I 
am  even  worse  than  he  is    .    .    I'm  like  a  crow  on  the  fences 
•   .    .    Good  for  nothing   .    ." 

393 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Every  impression  instantly  turned  into  a  stinging  thought- 
about  his  unfitness  for  life.  Everything  on  which  his  at- 
tention rested,  had  in  it  some  aSront  for  him,  and  this  ele- 
ment of  affront  laid  itself  upon  his  breast  like  a  brick.  At 
one  side  of  him,  near  the  baggage  scales,  stood  two  sailors, 
and  one  of  them,  a  robust,  red-faced  young  fellow,  was  re- 
lating to  his  comrade: 

"  Ho-ow  they  filing  themselves  on  me!  And  so,  my  dear 
fellow,  it  be-gan!  There  were  four  of  them — I  was  alone! 
Well,  but  I  wouldn't  give  in  to  them,  because  I  saw  that 
they  would  thrash  me  to  death!  Even  a  ram  will  kick  out, 
if  they  fiay  him  alive  .  .  Ho-ow  I  gave  it  to  them!  They 
immediately  took  to  their  heels,  one  in  this  direction    .    .    ." 

"  But  they  gave  you  your  fill,  all  the  same?"  inquired 
the  other  sailor. 

"  Of — cou-ourse!  I  caught  it  ...  I  had  to  swallow 
five  blows  .  .  .  But  does  a  fellow  hunt  after  such  things? 
They  didn't  kill  me    ...    I  may  be  thankful  for  that  I " 

"  Of  course,  that    .    .    ." 

"  To  the  stern,  I  tell  you,  you  devils!  "  roared  the  sweaty 
man  in  a  savage  voice,  at  two  stevedores,  who  were  rolling 
a  cask  of  fish  along  the  deck. 

"  What  are  you  yelhng  for?  "  Foma  said  to  him  surlily, 
for  he  had  started  at  the  shout. 

"  What  business  is  it  of  yours?  "  asked  the  man,  glancing 
at  Foma. 

"  It  is  my  business  .  .  .  The  men  are  toiling,  while 
your  fat  is  melting  ...  so  just  reflect,  what  need  is  there 
for  you  to  yell  at  them?"  said  Fomd  menacingly,  moving 
toward  him. 

"You're    .    .    .    not  very.    .    .    ." 

The  sweaty  man  suddenly  wrenched  himself  from  the  spot, 
as  it  were,  and  went  away  to  the  office.    Foma  gazed  after 

393 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

him,  and  also  quitted  the  wharf,  filled  with  a  desire  to  revile 
someone,  to  do  something,  for  the  sake  of  diverting  his 
thoughts,  if  only  for  a  short  time,  from  himself.  But  they 
continued  to  obsess  him. 

*'  There's  that  sailor — ^he  let  himself  loose — and  he's  safe 
and  sound!    We-ell,  ye-es    .    .    While  I    .    .    ." 

In  the  evening  he  went  again  to  the  Mayakins.  The  old 
man  was  not  at  home,  and  Liuboff  was  sitting  in  the  dining- 
room,  with  her  brother,  drinking  tea.  As  he  approached  the 
door,  Foma  heard  the  hoarse  voice  of  Taras  saying: 

"  What  makes  father  bother  himself  about  him?  " 

At  the  sight  of  Foma  he  stopped  short,  fixing  upon  his 
countenance  a  serious,  searching  gaze.  Consternation  was 
plainly  depicted  on  Liuboff's  face,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
she  said  to  Foma,  as  though  by  way  of  excusing  herself: 

"Ah!    So  it's  you   .    .    ." 

"  They  were  talking  about  me,"  reflected  Fomd,  as  he  took 
his  seat  at  the  table. 

Taras  removed  his  eyes  from  him,  and  planted  himself 
still  more  deeply  in  his  arm-chair.  The  awkward  silence 
lasted  for  about  a  minute,  and  it  was  agreeable  to  Foma. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  dinner?  "  asked  Liuboff  at  last. 

"What  dinner?" 

"Don't  you  know?  Kononoff  is  going  to  inaugurate  a 
new  steamer.  There  will  be  a  Prayer-service,  and  then  they 
are  going  to  take  a  sail  up  the  Volga    .    ." 

"  I  haven't  been  invited,"  said  Foma. 

"  There  have  been  no  invitations  ...  He  simply  gave 
a  general  invitation  on  'Change — ^  anyone  who  is  pleased  to 
honor  me — I  shall  be  delighted  to  see.'  " 

"  It  doesn't  please  me    .    ." 

"  Yes  ?  Consider  .  .  there  will  be  a  grand  drinking- 
bout,"  said  Liuboff,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  him. 

394 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

*'  I  will  drink  at  my  own  expense,  if  I  feel  like  it    .    .    /' 

"  I  know    .    ."  said  Liuboff,  with  an  expressive  nod. 

Taras  played  with  his  tea-spoon,  twisting  it  about  between 
his  fingers,  and  casting  furtive  glances  at  them. 

"  And  where  is  my  god-father?  "  asked  Foma. 

"  He  has  gone  to  the  bank  .  .  There's  a  meeting  of  the 
directors  today   .    .    The  election  is  to  take  place    .    .    ." 

"  They  will  elect  him  again    .    /' 

"Of  course    .    ." 

And  again  the  conversation  dropped.  Foma  began  to 
watch  the  brother  and  sister.  Taras,  having  flung  aside  his 
spoon,  drank  his  tea  slowly,  in  great  gulps,  and  silently 
pushed  the  glass  toward  his  sister,  with  a  smile.  She,  also, 
smiled  joyously  and  happily,  seized  the  glass,  and  began  as- 
siduously to  fill  it.  Then  her  face  assumed  a  strained  ex- 
pression, she  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  on  her  guard,  and  she 
inquired  of  her  brother,  in  an  undertone,  and  almost  rev- 
erently: 

"  Shall  we  return  to  the  beginning  of  our  conversation?  '* 

"  Pray  do !  "  assented  Taras  briefly. 

"You  said  .  .  .  I  did  not  understand — ^how  was  it? 
I  inquired:  if  all  this  is  a  Utopia,  in  your  opinion,  if  it  is 
impossible  .  .  dreams  .  .  then  what  is  a  man  to  do,  who 
is  not  satisfied  with  life  as  it  is?  " 

The  young  girl  inclined  her  whole  body  toward  her 
brother,  and  her  eyes,  with  their  intense  expression,  rested 
on  her  brother's  tranquil  face.  He  cast  a  weary  glance  at 
her,  fidgetted  about  in  his  chair,  and  dropping  his  head,  he 
said  calmly  and  impressively: 

"  We  must  consider  in  what  cause  dissatisfaction  with  life 
has  its  origin  ?  ...  It  seems  to  me,  that  this  arises,  in  the 
first  place,  from  ignorance  of  how  to  work  .  .  from  the 
lack  of  respect  for  labor.    And,  in  the  second  place,  from  an 

895 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

incorrect  conception  of  one's  own  powers  .  .  .  The  un- 
happiness  of  the  majority  of  people  lies  in  the  fact,  that 
they  consider  themselves  capable  of  more  than  they  really 
are  .  .  .  And  yet,  not  much  is  required  of  a  man:  he 
must  select  for  himself  some  business  in  consonance  with 
his  uowers,  and  do  it  as  well  as  possible,  as  attentively  as  pos- 
sible .  .  .  You  must  love  what  you  are  doing,  and  then 
labor — even  the  very  roughest — will  be  elevated  to  the  dig- 
nity of  creation  .  .  A  chair,  made  with  love,  will  always 
be  a  good,  beautiful  and  durable  chair  .  .  .  And  so  it  is 
with  everything  .  .  .  Eead  Smiles  .  .  haven't  you 
read  him?  It's  a  very  practical  book  ...  A  sound  book 
.  .  Read  Lubbock  .  .  .  Bear  in  mind,  in  general,  that 
the  English  are  the  nation  most  fitted  for  labor,  which  also 
explains  their  wonderful  success  it  the  realm  of  industry  and 
trade  .  .  .  With  them  work  is  almost  a  cult  .  .  The 
^  level  of  culture  is  always  directly  dependent  upon  the  love  of 
labor  .  .  .  And  the  higher  the  culture,  the  more  pro- 
foundly are  the  requirements  of  the  people  satisfied,  the  less 
obstacle  is  there  to  the  further  development  of  man's  de- 
mands .  .  .  Happiness  is  the  most  complete  possible  sat- 
isfaction of  these  demands  .  .  .  There  you  have  it  .  .  . 
And  so,  you  see,  a  man's  happiness  is  conditional  upon  his 
relations  to  his  work    .    .    ." 

Taras  Mayakin  spoke  as  slowly  and  laboriously  as  though 
it  were  unpleasant  and  tiresome  for  him  to  talk.  But  Liu- 
boff,  her  brows  contracted,  and  her  whole  body  bending 
toward  him,  listened  to  his  remarks  with  eager  attention  in 
her  eyes,  ready  to  accept  everything  and  absorb  it  into  her 
soul. 

"  Well,  but  if  everything  is  repulsive  to  a  man  .  ."  began 
Fomd  suddenly,  in  a  thick  voice,  casting  a  glance  at  Taras's 
face. 

396 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  What,  precisely,  do  you  mean  by  *  repulsive  to  a  man '?  " 
asked  Mayakin  calmly,  without  looking  at  Foma. 

The  latter  bowed  his  head,  planted  his  arms  on  the  table, 
and  thus  posed,  like  an  ox,  continued  to  explain  himself: 

"  Nothing  suits  him  .  .  Business  .  .  .  work  .  .  . 
No  people  .  .  no  acts  ...  If  I  perceive,  let  us  say, 
that  everything  is  a  fraud  .  .  Business  is  not  business,  but 
a  sort  of  plug  .  .  We  plug  up  the  emptiness  of  our  soul 
with  it  .  .  Some  toil,  others  merely  give  orders,  and  swear" 
.    .    .    but  receive  more  for  that    .    .    .    Why  is  it  so?  hey?" 

"  I  fail  to  grasp  your  meaning  .  .  ."  declared  Taras, 
when  Foma  paused,  conscious  that  Liuboff's  contemptuous 
and  angry  gaze  was  upon  him. 

"You  don't  understand?''  inquired  Foma,  staring  at 
Taras  with  a  grin  .  .  "  Well  .  .  let's  put  it  this  way: 
A  man  is  sailing  on  the  river  in  a  boat  .  .  The  boat  is, 
probably,  a  good  one,  but  beneath  it,  nevertheless,  there  is 
always  a  depth  .  .  .  The  boat  is  stout  .  .  but  if  the 
man  feels  conscious  of  this  dark  depth  beneath  him  .  .  . 
no  boat  will  save  him    .    .    ." 

Taras  gazed  calmly  and  indifferently  at  Foma.  He  con- 
tinued to  gaze  in  silence,  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the 
edge  of  the  table.  Liuboff  fidgetted  restlessly  on  her  chair. 
The  pendulum  of  the  clock  beat  off  the  seconds  with  a  dull, 
sighing  sound.  And  Foma's  heart  beat  slowly  and  heavily,, 
as  though  conscious  that  no  one  here  would  respond  with 
a  cordial  word  to  its  painful  perplexity. 

"  Work — is  not  everything  for  a  man  .  .  ."  he  said, 
more  to  himself  than  to  these  people,  who  did  not  believe 
in  the  sincerity  of  his  speech. — "  It  is  not  true,  that  justifi- 
cation Hes  in  work  .  .  .  Some  people  never  do  any  work 
at  all  all  their  lives  long — and  yet  they  Hve  better  than  the 
toilers    .    .    .    why  is  that?    But  as  for  the  toilers — they 

397 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

are  simply  wretched — horses!  People  ride  on  them,  they 
endure  it  .  .  .  and  that's  all.  But  they  have  their  jus- 
tification before  God  .  .  .  They  will  be  asked:  'For  what 
/  did  you  live,  hey?  '  Then  they  will  say  .  .  *  we  never  had 
iany  time  to  think  about  that  .  .  we  toiled  all  our  lives 
.  .  .'  And  what  justification  have  I?  And  how  will  all 
the  people  who  give  the  orders  justify  themselves?  What 
have  they  lived  for?  But  my  idea  is,  that  everybody  ought, 
without  fail,  to  know  solidly — what  he  is  living  for/' 

He  stopped,  and  throwing  back  his  head,  he  exclaimed  in 
a  dull  voice: 

"Is  it  possible  that  a  man  is  born  to  toil,  accumulate 

money,  build  a  house,  beget  children,  and — die?    No,  life 

means  something  in  itself    .    .    A  man  has  been  born,  has 

lived,  has  died    .    .    why?    All  of  us  must  consider  why  we 

(  are  living,  by  God  we  must.    There's  no  sense  in  our  life    .    . 

there's  no  sense  at  all  in  it! — And  then — things  are  not  equal 

.    .    that  is  immediately  visible.    Some  are  rich    .    .    they 

have  money  enough  for  a  thousand  men  all  to  themselves 

.    .    .    and  they  live  without  occupation    .    .    .    others,  bow 

their  backs  in  toil  all  their  life,  and  they  haven't  a  penny 

/ .    .    Yet  the  difference  in  people  is  email.     .    .    The  one 

'/  without  trousers  lives  and  thinks,  exactly  like  the  one  clad 

I  in  silk    .    ." 

Inspired  by  his  thoughts,  Foma  would  have  continued  to 
expound  them  at  length,  but  Taras  pushed  his  chair  away 
from  the  table,  rose,  and  said,  with  a  sigh,  in  an  undertone : 
"  No,  thank  you    .    .    I  don't  want  any  more    .    ." 
Foma  broke  off  his  speech  abruptly,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  glancinsf  at  Liuboff  with  a  grin. 

"  Where  did  you  get  hold  of  so  much    .    .    .     philos- 
ophy? "  she  asked,  drily  and  distrustfully. 

"  That's  not  philosophy    .    .    It's    .    .    only    .    .    chas- 

393 


Foma  Gordyeefif 

tisement — that's  what  it  is! "  said  Foma,  in  a  low  tone — 
"  Open  your  eyes  and  look  at  everything  .  .  then  the  same 
ideas  will  enter  your  brain    .    ." 

"  0,  by  the  way,  Liuboff,  note  the  fact/'  said  Taras,  as 
he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  table,  and  inspected  the  clock, 
— "  that  pessimism  is  utterly  foreign  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race  .  .  .  "What  is  called  pessimism,  in  Swift  and  Byrouj 
is  only  a  burning,  biting  protest  against  the  imperfection  of 
life  and  man  .  .  But  cold,  argumentative,  and  passive 
pessimism  you  will  not  meet  with  in  them   .    .    ." 

Then,  as  though  suddenly  recalling  Foma's  existence,  he 
turned  toward  him,  put  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and 
wriggling  his  thigh,  he  said: 

"  You  raise  very  important  questions  .  .  And  if  they 
seriously  occupy  your  attention,  .  .  .  you  must  read 
books  ...  In  them  you  will  find  plenty  of  very  valuable 
opinions  as  to  the  meaning  of  life    .    .    Do  you  read  books? '' 

"  No!  "  replied  Foma  curtly. 

"Ah!" 

"  I  don't  like  them    .    ." 

"  Aha!  But  they  might  be  of  some  assistance  to  you,"  said 
Taras,  and  a  smile  flitted  across  his  lips. 

"Books?    If  people  cannot  help  me  in  my  thoughts— j^^ 
much  less  can  hooks    .    .    ."  said  Foma  sullenly.  i 

He  felt  bored  and  constrained  with  this  indifferent  man. 
He  would  have  liked  to  go  away,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he 
wanted  to  say  to  Liuboff  something  insulting  about  her 
brother,  and  he  waited  to  see  whether  Taras  would  not  leave 
the  room.  Liuboff  washed  up  the  tea-things;  her  face  wore 
a  concentrated,  thoughtful  expression,  and  her  hands  moved 
languidly.  Taras  walked  about  the  room,  pausing  before 
the  shelves  of  silver,  whistled,  drummed  with  his  fingers  on 
the  window  panes,  and  inspected  the  things,  screwing  up 

399 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

his  eyes  as  he  did  so.  The  pendulum  flashed  past  the  glass 
of  the  case,  like  a  broad,  grinning  face,  and  monotonously 
ticked  off  the  seconds  .  .  .  Foma,  observing  that  Liuboff 
had  several  times  looked  interrogatively  at  him,  with  dis- 
pleasure and  expectancy,  understood  that  he  was  in  the  way, 
and  that  she  was  impatiently  awaiting  his  departure. 

"  I  will  pass  the  night  with  you,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her. — 
"  I  must  have  a  talk  with  my  god-father.  And  it's  tiresome 
at  my  house  alone." 

**  Then  go  and  tell  Marfusha  to  prepare  a  bed  for  you  in 
the  corner-room    .    ."  advised  Liuboff  hastily. 

"  I  will." 

He  rose  and  quitted  the  dining-room.  And  immediately 
he  heard  Taras  put  a  low-toned  question  about  something 
to  his  sister. 

"It's  about  me!"  he  thought.  All  at  once,  this  idea 
flashed  into  his  mind:  "  I'll  listen,  and  hear  what  clever  peo- 
ple have  to  say    .    ." 

He  laughed  softly,  and  walking  on  tiptoe,  he  passed  noise- 
lessly into  the  room  which  adjoined  the  dining-room.  There 
was  no  lamp  there,  and  only  a  slender  band  of  Hght  from 
the  dining-room,  passing  through  the  unclosed  door,  lay 
on  the  dark  floor.  Softly,  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart, 
and  a  malicious  smile,  Foma  went  close  to  the  door,  and 
halted. 

"  He's  a  heavy  young  fellow,"  said  Taras. 

Liuboff 's  suppressed  and  hasty  words  became  audible: 

"  He  has  done  nothing  but  carouse  .  .  .  It's  frightful, 
the  outrageous  things  he  has  done!  It  began  all  of  a  sudden 
with  him  .  .  The  first  thing  he  did  '.^as  to  thrash  the 
Vice-Governor's  son-in-law  at  the  Club.  Papa  had  the  great- 
est trouble  in  the  world  to  hush  up  the  scandal,  and  it  was 
a  lucky  thing  that  the  victim  happened  to  be  a  man  of  very 

4C0 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

bad  reputation  .  .  He's  a  card-sharper — and,  altogether, 
a  shady  individual  .  .  But  it  cost  father  over  two  thou- 
sand rubles  .  .  And  while  father  was  taking  all  that 
trouble  over  one  scandal,  Foma  came  near  drowning  a  whole 
company  on  the  Volga." 

"Ha,  ha!  What  a  monster!  And  yet  he  busies  himself 
with  investigations  as  to  the  meaning  of  life    .    .    ." 

"  On  another  occasion,  he  was  travelling  on  a  steamer  with 
a  party  of  the  same  sort  of  people  as  himself,  and  all  at  once 
he  said  to  them:  ^  Say  your  prayers!  I'm  going  to  fling 
everyone  of  you  into  the  water,  right  away! '  He's  terribly 
strong  .  .  They  began  to  scream  .  .  But  he  said:  '  I 
want  to  serve  my  country,  I  want  to  purify  the  earth  of 
worthless  people    .    .    .' " 

''Well?    That  was  witty!  " 

"  He's  a  frightful  man!  There's  no  end  to  the  wild  pranks 
he  has  perpetrated  for  years  past  .  .  What  a  lot  of  money 
he  has  squandered! " 

"  But  .  .  tell  me — on  what  terms  does  father  manage 
his  business  for  him?    Don't  you  know?  " 

"  No,  I  don't!  He  holds  a  full  power  of  attorney  .  .  . 
Why?" 

"  Nothing  .  .  .  It's  a  solid  business!  Of  course,  it  is 
established  on  a  purely  Russian  footing,  .  .  that  is  to 
say,  abominably.  And,  nevertheless,  it's  a  magnificent  busi- 
ness! If  it  were  properly  attended  to,  perhaps  .  .  it  would 
be  more  profitable  than  gold-mines    .    .    ." 

"Foma  does  nothing  whatever  .  .  Everything  is  in 
father's  Lands    .    ." 

"Yes?    That's  fine    .    /' 

"  Do  you  know,  at  times  it  seems  to  me  as  though — that 
pensive  mood  of  Foma's  .  .  those  harangues  .  .  were 
sincere,  and  that  he  might  be  a  very  decent  sort  of  man 

401 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

.  .  .  But  I  cannot  reconcile  his  scandalous  life  with  his 
speeches  and  arguments    ...   I  positively  cannot!  " 

"  And  it's  not  worth  troubling  yourself  about  .  .  .  He's 
a  hobbledehoy  and  a  sluggard — seeking  justification  for  his 
deeds    .    ." 

"  No,  you  see,  he  is  sometimes  .  .  like  a  child  .  .  He 
was  particularly  so  in  former  days.'' 

"Well,  I  have  said  my  say:  he's  a  hobbledehoy.  Is  it 
worth  while  to  discuss  an  ignoramus  and  a  savage,  who  is 
determined  to  be  a  savage  and  an  ignoramus,  and  doesn't  con- 
ceal the  fact?  You  see:  he  argues  as  the  bear  bent  the  shafts 
in  the  fable    .    ." 

"  You  are  very  harsh    .    ." 

"  Yes,  I  am  harsh!  Men  require  it  .  .  All  of  us  Rus- 
sians are  desperately  indolent.  Fortunately,  life  is  so  ar- 
ranged that,  willy-nilly,  we  gradually  brace  up  .  .  . 
Dreams  are  for  young  boys  and  girls,  but  for  serious  people, 
there  is  serious  business    .    .    ." 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  very  sorry  for  Foma  .  .  What  will 
become  of  him?  " 

"  That  does  not  concern  me  .  .  I  think  that  nothing 
in  particular  will  become  of  him — neither  good  nor  bad  .  . 
He's  a  hair-brained  young  fellow,  he  will  run  through  his 
money,  ruin  himself — what  else?  Eh,  let  him  go!  Such 
as  he  are  rare  now-a-days  .  .  The  merchant  understands 
the  power  of  education  now  .  .  But  he — that  foster- 
brother  of  yours — will  go  to  destruction." 

"  Quite  correct,  master! "  said  Foma,  opening  the  door, 
and  appearing  on  the  threshold.  Pale,  with  lowering  brows 
and  writhing  lips,  he  stared  point-blank  at  Taras,  and  said 
dully:  "  Correct!  I  shall  go  to  perdition,  and — amen!  The 
quicker  the  better! " 

Liuboff,  with  terror  on  her  face,  sprang  from  her  chair, 

402 


Fomk  Gordy^eff 

and  ran  to  Taras,  who  was  standing  calmly  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets. 

"Foma!  0!  Shame!  You  have  been  eavesdropping 
.    .    akh,  Foma!  "  she  said,  distractedly. 

"  Shut  up!  you  sheep! ''  said  Foma  to  her. 

"  Ye-es,  it  is  not  nice  to  hsten  at  doors,"  said  Taras  slowly, 
never  removing  from  him  his  contemptuous  gaze. 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  isn't!  "  said  Foma,  waving  his  hand. — 
"  Am  I  to  blame  because  the  only  way  to  hear  the  truth  is 
by  eavesdropping?  " 

"  Go  away,  Foma!  Please  do!  "  entreated  Liuboff,  press- 
ing close  to  her  brother. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  something  to  say  to  me  ?  "  inquired 
Taras  calmly. 

"  I?  "  exclaimed  Foma. — "  What  can  I  say?  Nothing! — 
But  you, — you,  I  think,  can  say  everything    .    ." 

"  That  means,  that  you  and  I  have  nothing  to  discuss?  " 
asked  Taras  again. 

"No!" 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 

He  turned  sideways  to  Foma,  and  asked  Liuboff; 

"  Do  you  think  father  will  return  soon?  " 

Foma  looked  at  him,  and  cautiously  quitted  the  house, 
with  something  hke  a  feeling  of  respect  for  this  man.  He 
did  not  wish  to  go  home,  to  his  vast,  empty  house,  where  his 
every  footstep  awakened  a  resounding  echo,  and  he  walked 
along  the  street,  enveloped  in  the  mournful  gray  twilight  of 
late  autumn.    He  thought  over  Taras  Mayakin. 

"  He's  a  hard  one  ...  He  takes  after  his  father,  only, 
he's  not  so  restless.  It  strikes  me  that  he  is  a  cunning  rogue 
also  .  .  But  Liiibka  regards  him  as  almost  a  saint  .  .  . 
the  little  fool!  How  he  did  sum  me  up!  A  regular  judge 
.    .    .    But  she  was  kind  toward  me    .    ,'' 

403 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

But  all  these  thoughts  did  not  evoke  in  him  any  feelings — 
neither  one  of  hatred  toward  Taras,  nor  of  sympathy  for 
Liuboff.  He  bore  within  him  something  heavy  and  uncom- 
fortable, something  which  he  could  not  comprehend.  This 
kept  increasing  in  his  breast,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
heart  was  swollen,  and  was  aching,  as  though  from  an  ulcer. 
He  watched  this  incessant  and  indomitable  pain,  observed 
that  it  grew  greater  with  every  passing  hour,  waxed  in 
strength,  and,  not  knowing  how  to  put  a  stop  to  it,  he  waited 
stupidly  for  whatever  might  be  the  end. 

Then  his  god-father's  trotter  dashed  past  him.  Foma 
descried  in  the  carriage  the  tiny  form  of  Yakoff  Mayakin, 
but  it  aroused  no  sentiment  in  him.  A  lamplighter  ran  past 
Foma,  overtook  him,  placed  his  ladder  against  the  lantern 
and  ascended  it.  But  it  suddenly  gave  way  under  his  weight, 
and  clasping  the  lamp-post  in  his  embrace,  he  swore  loudly 
and  angrily.  A  young  girl  jostled  Foma  in  the  side  with 
her  bundle,  and  said: 

"  Akh,  excuse  me    .    ." 

He  glanced  at  her,  and  made  no  reply.  Then  hoar-frost 
began  to  sift  down  from  the  sky,  tiny,  barely  visible  drops  of 
moisture,  clouded  the  light  of  the  street-lanterns,  and  the 
windows  of  the  shops  with  grayish  dust.  This  dust  rendered 
it  difficult  to  breathe. 

"  Shall  I  go  to  Ezhoff,  to  spend  the  night?  I  might  have 
a  drink  with  him,"  said  Foma  to  himself,  and  went  to  Ez- 
hoff's,  without  having  either  any  desire  to  see  the  f euilleton- 
writer,  or  to  drink  with  him. 

On  the  divan  at  Ezhoff' s  sat  a  shaggy  young  fellow  in  a 
blouse,  and  gray  trousers.  His  face  was  dark,  almost  smutty, 
his  eyes  were  large,  staring  and  wrathful,  over  his  thick  lips 
projected  a  bristling  mustache.  He  sat  with  his  legs  on  the 
divan,  clasping  them  in  his  huge,  ugly  hands,  and  laying  his 

404 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

chin  on  his  knees.  Ezhoff  was  sitting  sideways  in  an  arm- 
chair, with  his  legs  thrown  over  the  arm.  Among  the  books 
and  papers  on  the  table  stood  a  bottle  of  vodka,  and  there 
was  an  odor  of  some  salt  food  in  the  room. 

"  Why  do  you  roam  about?  "  Ezhoff  asked  Foma,  and  nod- 
ding toward  him,  he  said  to  the  man  seated  on  the  divan: 
"  Gordyeeff! '' 

The  man  glanced  at  the  newcomer,  and  said,  in  a  harsh, 
creaking  voice : 

"  Krasnoshtchekoff    .    .    ." 

Foma  sat  down  on  a  comer  of  the  divan,  announcing  to 
Ezhoff: 

"  I  have  come  to  spend  the  night." 

"  Well,  what  then?    Go  on,  Vasily." 

The  latter  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  Foma,  and  creaked  out: 

"  In  my  opinion,  you  make  a  mistake  in  falling  foul  of  the 
Btupid  people  .  .  Masaniello  was  a  fool,  but  what  he  had 
to  do  he  did,  in  the  best  possible  way.  And  that  Winkelried 
was  a  fool,  also,  is  certain  .  .  but  if  he  had  not  em- 
braced in  his  bosom  the  imperial  spears,  they  would  have 
inflamed  the  Swiss.  There  are  lots  of  just  such  fools!  But 
— they  are  heroes  .  .  But  the  clever  people  are  cowards 
.  .  When  one  of  them  ought  to  deal  a  blow,  with  all  his 
might,  at  an  obstacle,  he  begins  to  reason:  What  comes 
from  where?  and  how  he  may  escape  perishing  in  vain? 
And  he  stands  before  the  affair  like  a  post,  until  he  dies. 
But  the  fool — ^he  is  brave!  Bang — straight  against  the  wall 
he  dashes  his  brow!  If  his  skull  cracks, — what  of  that? 
Calves'  heads  are  not  valuable  .  .  But  if  he  makes  a  crack 
in  the  wall  the  clever  people  will  pick  it  open  into  a  gate, 
pass  through, — and  ascribe  the  honor  to  themselves  .  .  No, 
Nikolai  Matvyeevitch,  bravery  is  a  good  thing,  even  without 
brains    .    ." 

405 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Yasily,  you're  talking  nonsense! "  said  Ezhoff,  offering 
him  his  hand. 

"Why,  of  course!  "assented  Yasily  .  .  "  How  is  a  small 
person  like  me  to  do  great  things  .  .  Nevertheless,  I  am 
not  blind  .  .  And  this  is  what  I  see:  plenty  of  brains  and 
no  sense.  Just  so  long  as  the  clever  people  meditate  and 
'make  ready  to  act  in  the  wisest  way^  the  fools  will  get  the 
Tbest  of  them    .    .    Only    .    P 

"Wait!  "said  Ezhoff. 

"  I  can't!  I  am  on  duty  today  .  .  I'm  behind  time,  as  it 
is    .    .    I'll  run  in  again  tomorrow, — may  I  ?  " 

"  Go  ahead!    I'll  give  you  a  dressing-down    .    /' 

"  That's  your  business    .    ." 

Vasily  slowly  put  himself  to  rights,  rose  from  the  divan, 
took  Ezhoff's  dry,  yellow  little  hand  in  his  huge,  black  paw, 
and  pressed  it. 

"  Good-bye! " 

Then  he  nodded  at  Fomd,  and  proceeded  sideways  to  the 
door. 

"You  saw  him?"  Ezhoff  asked  Foma,  pointing  at  the 
door,  behind  which  heavy  footsteps  still  resounded. 

"  "WTiat  sort  of  a  man  is  he?  " 

"  Assistant  engineer,  Yaska  Krasnoshtchekoff,  .  .  Now, 
take  example  by  him:  the  man  began  to  teach  himself  to 
read  and  write  at  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  at  eight  and 
twenty,  he  has  read  the  devil  knows  how  many  fine  books, 
and  taught  himself  two  languages  to  perfection  .  .  Now 
he's  going  abroad    .    ." 

"  Why?  "  inquired  Foma. 

"  To  study  .  .  to  see  how  people  live  there  .  .  But 
see  here,  you're  out  of  sorts — ^what's  the  matter?  " 

"  He  spoke  sensibly  about  fools!  "  said  Foma  thoughtfully. 

"  I  don't  know — as  I'm  not  a  fool   .    ." 

406 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

**  It  was  sensible!  A  stupid  man  must  needs  act  instantly 
,    .    He  flings  himself  forward,  overturns    .    ." 

"He  is  making  a  great  fuss  about  trifles!"  exclaimed 
Ezhoff. — "  Say,  this  is  what  you'd  better  tell  me:  is  it  true 
that  Mayakin's  son  has  come  home  ? '' 

"Yes    .    ." 

"  You  don't  say  so!  " 

"What  of  it?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  But  I  can  see  from  your  face  that  there  is  something." 

"  We  know  all  about  that  son  of  his  .  .  we've  heard  of 
him  before    .    ." 

"  But  I  have  seen  him    .    ." 

"Well?    What's  he  like?" 

"  Well  .  .  the  deuce  knows!  What  have  I  to  do  with 
him?  " 

"  Is  he  like  his  father?  " 

"  Stouter  .  .  plumper  .  .  more  seriousness  .  .  he's 
.    .    such  a  cold  fellow    .    ." 

"  That  means,  that  he  will  be  even  worse  than  Yashka. 
Well,  now,  my  dear  fellow,  be  on  your  guard!  Otherwise, 
they'll  gnaw  you  to  the  bone    .    ." 

"Well,  let  them!" 

"  They'll  rob  you  .  .  you'll  become  a  beggar  .  .  That 
Taras  plundered  his  father-in-law  in  Ekaterinburg  very 
cleverly    .    ." 

"  Let  him  plunder  me,  if  he  likes.  I  shall  not  say  a  word 
to  him  about  it,  except,  *  thank  you.'  " 

"  You're  still  harping  on  the  old  story?  " 

"Yes    .    ." 

"To  free  yourself?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"  Drop  it!  What  do  you  want  of  freedom?   What  will  youV 

407 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

do  with  it?  You  see,  you're  not  capable  of  doing  anything, 
you're  illiterate  .  .  you  certainly  won't  set  to  chopping 
fire-wood?!  Now,  if  I  could  only  free  myself  from  the  ne- 
cessity of  drinking  vodka  and  eating  bread!  " 

Ezhoff  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  placing  himself  in  front 
of  Foma,  he  said,  in  a  high  voice,  and  as  though  declaiming: 

"  I  would  collect  together  the  remnants  of  my  tortured 
soul,  and  together  with  my  heart's  blood  I  would  spit  them 
in  the  faces  of  our  edu-duca-ted  people,  de-dev-il  take  it!  I 
would  say  to  them:  You  insignificant  insects!  you  are  the 
best  sap  of  my  country!  The  fact  o±  your  existence  has  been 
paid  for  with  the  blood  and  tears  of  scores  of  generations  of 
Eussian  people.  0!  you  nits!  How  dear  you  have  cost  your 
country!  What  do  you  do  for  it?  Have  you  converted  the 
tears  of  the  past  into  pearls?  What  have  you  contributed  to 
life?  What  have  you  done?  Have  you  allowed  yourselves 
to  be  vanquished?  What  are  you  doing?  You  allow  people 
to  sneer  at  you    ..." 

He  stamped  with  rage,  and  gritting  his  teeth,  he  stared 
at  Foma  with  a  flaming,  wicked  look,  and  resembled  an  en- 
raged beast  of  prey. 

"  I  would  say  to  them:  You!  You  reflect  too  much,  but 
lyou  are  not  very  clever,  and  you  are  utterly  helpless,  and — 
*you  are  cowards,  all  of  you!  Your  hearts  are  stuffed  full  of 
morality  and  good  intentions,  but  they  are  as  soft  and  warm 
as  a  feather-bed,  the  creative  spirit  sleeps  calmly  and  soundly 
in  them,  and  they  do  not  beat,  but  only  rock  to  and  fro,  like 
a  cradle.  Dipping  my  finger  in  my  heart's  blood,  I  would 
smear  upon  their  foreheads  the  seal  of  my  reproaches,  and 
they,  the  poor  in  spirit,  wretched  in  their  self-satisfaction, 
would  suffer  .  .  0,  how  they  would  suffer  then!  My 
scourge  is  subtle,  and  my  hand  is  firm!  And  I  love  them  too 
much  to  have  compassion!    They  would  suffer!    But  now — 

408 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

they  do  not  suffer,  for  they  talk  too  much,  too  frequently 
and  loudly,  about  their  sufferings!    They  lie!    Genuine  suf-^ 
fering  is  silent,  and  genuine  passion  knows  no  bounds! — '' 
Passions,  passions!    WTien  will  they  be  regenerated  in  the* 
hearts  of  men  ?    We  are  all  miserable  through  apathy    .    ."  ' 

Sighing,  he  began  to  cough,  and  coughed  for  a  long  time, 
jumping  about  the  room  and  flourishing  his  hands  like  a 
madman.  And  again  he  took  up  his  stand  in  front  of  Foma, 
with  pale  visage,  and  blood-shot  eyes.  He  breathed  heavily, 
his  lips  quivered,  disclosing  his  small,  sharp  teeth.  Di- 
shevelled as  he  was,  with  his  head  covered  with  short  hair, 
he  resembled  a  perch,  just  thrown  out  of  the  water  .  ,  It 
was  the  first  time  Foma  had  seen  him  like  this,  and,  as  usual, 
he  caught  the  infection  of  his  agitation.  He  hstened  in  si- 
lence to  the  little  man's  boiling  speech,  without  making  any 
effort  to  grasp  its  meaning,  without  caring  to  know  against 
whom  it  was  directed, — gulping  down  only  its  force.  Ez- 
hoff's  words  spirted  over  him  like  boiling  water,  and  warmed 
his  soul.  "  I  will  say  to  them,  to  these  wretched  idlers: 
Look!    Life  is  moving  on,  and  leaving  you  behind!  " 

"  Ekh,  that's  good! "  exclaimed  Foma  with  rapture,  and 
fidgetted  about  on  the  divan. — "You're  a  hero,  Nikolai! 
Oo-o-o!  Give  it  to  them!  Throw  it  straight  in  their 
faces! " 

But  Ezhoff  required  no  encouragement,  he  did  not  even 
seem  to  hear  Foma's  exclamation,  and  continued: 

"  I  know  the  measure  of  my  powers,  I  know  that  my  place 
is  to  shout. — Hold  your  peace!  It  is  my  place  to  cry:  Si- 
lence! They  will  talk  wisely,  they  will  talk  calmly,  sneering 
at  me,  from  the  heights  of  their  grandeur  they  will  talk  .  . 
I  know,  .  .  I  am  a  small  bird,  0,  I  am  not  a  nightingale! 
I'm  an  ill-bred  clown  in  comparison  with  them,  I'm  only 
a  feuilleton-writer,  a  man  to  amuse  the  public    .     .    .    Let 

409 


Foma  Gordydeff 

them  shriek  and  rend  me  asunder,  let  them!  The  blow  will 
fall  upon  my  cheeky  but  my  heart  will  continue  to  beat,  all 
the  same!  And  I  will  say  to  them:  Yes,  I  am  an  ignoramus! 
iiA.nd  my  first  advantage  over  you  is,  that  I  do  not  know  a 
single  truth  from  books,  which  is  dearer  to  me  than  man! 
Man  is  the  universe,  and  may  he  live  forever,  bearing  the 
whole  world  within  him!  But  you,  I  will  say,  you,  for  the 
sake  of  a  word,  which,  perhaps,  does  not  always  contain  a 
meaning  that  is  comprehensible  to  you, — often,  for  the  sake 
of  a  word,  you  inflict  on  one  another  sores  and  wounds,  for 
the  sake  of  a  word,  you  sprinkle  one  another  with  gall,  you  do 
violence  to  the  soul  .  .  For  this  life  will  hold  you  to  a 
stern  accounting,  believe  me:  the  tempest  will  break  loose, 
and  it  will  sweep  and  wash  you  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  as 
rain  and  wind  sweep  the  dust  from  a  tree!  In  the  language 
of  men  there  is  only  one  word,  whose  contents  are  clear  and 
dear  to  everyone,  and  when  that  word  is  pronounced,  it 
sounds  thus:    Freedom! " 

"  Smash  away! "  roared  Foma,  springing  up  from  the 
divan,  and  grasping  Ezhoff  by  the  shoulders. — With  flashing 
eyes,  he  stared  into  Ezhoff's  face,  bending  down  to  him,  and 
sadly,  woefully  he  almost  groaned: — "  E-ekh!  Nikolka  .  . 
My  dear  fellow,  I'm  deadly  sorry  for  you!  I'm  more  sorry 
than  I  can  say!  " 

"  What's  this?  Who  are  you?  "  shouted  Ezhoff,  pushing 
him  off,  amazed  and  driven  from  his  position  by  Foma's  un- 
expected outburst  and  words. 

"  Ekh,  my  dear  fellow! "  said  Foma,  lowering  his  voice, 
which  rendered  it  deeper,  more  persuasive. — "  You  are  a 
living  soul    .    .    why  should  you  go  to  destruction?  " 

"Who?    I?    I  go  to  destruction?    You  lie!  " 

"My  dear  fellow!  You  won't  say  anything  to  anybody! 
Not  to  anyone!    AVho  will  listen  to  you?    Only  I    .    .    ." 

410 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Go  to  the  devil! "  shouted  Ezhoff  viciously,  springing 
away  from  him  as  though  he  had  been  scorched. 

But  Foma  followed  him,  and  said  persuasively,  and  very 
sadly: 

"  Talk  away!  Talk  to  me!  1^11  report  your  words  where 
they  are  needed  ...  I  understand  them  .  .  And,  ah, 
how  I  will  sear  the  people!  Just  wait!  .  .  My  chance  will 
come!    .    .'' 

"  Go  away! "  shrieked  Ezhoff  hysterically,  squeezing  his 
back  against  the  wall,  under  Foma^s  pressure.  Discomfited, 
crushed,  enraged,  he  defended  himself  against  Foma's  arms 
outstretched  toward  him.  At  that  moment,  the  door  of  the 
room  opened,  and  on  the  threshold  appeared  a  woman  all 
dressed  in  black.  Her  face  was  angry,  excited,  her  cheek  was 
bound  up  with  a  kerchief.  She  threw  back  her  head, 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  Ezhoff,  and  said,  in  a  hissing, 
whistling  voice: 

"  Nikolai  Matvyeevitch!  Excuse  me  .  .  this  cannot  be 
permitted!  The  howls  of  a  wild  beast  .  .  .  roars  .  . 
Visitors  every  day  .  .  The  police  are  coming  .  .  No,  I 
cannot  endure  it  any  longer!  You  are  the  first  I  ever  had 
.  .  Be  so  good  as  to  vacate  your  lodgings  tomorrow  .  .  . 
You  are  not  living  in  a  desert  .  .  there  are  people  around 
you  .  .  And  an  educated  man,  at  that!  A  writer!  All 
people  require  rest  .  .  I  have  the  toothache  .  .  .  I  re- 
quest that  tomorrow  you  will  ...  I  shall  paste  up  a 
notice  of  rooms  to  rent — I  shall  notify  the  police    .    .    ." 

She  talked  fast,  and  the  majority  of  her  words  were  lost 
in  the  hissing  and  whistling;  only  those  words  were  distin- 
guishable which  she  shrieked  out  in  a  shrill,  irritated  voice. 
The  ends  of  her  kerchief  stuck  up  above  her  head  like  little 
horns,  and  quivered  with  the  movement  of  her  jaws.  At  the 
sight  of  her  excited  and  absurd  figure,  Foma  began  grad- 

411 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

ually  to  retreat  toward  the  divan,  but  Ezhoff  stood  still,  star- 
ing intently  at  her,  and  listening  to  her  remarks,  as  he 
mopped  his  brow. 

"  So  now  yon  know!  "  she  screamed,  and  from  outside  the 
door,  she  said  once  more: — "  Tomorrow,  then!  What  out- 
rageous behavior    .    ." 

"  The  de-devil! "  whispered  Ezhoff,  staring  stupidly  at 
the  door. 

"  Ye-e-es !  What  a  woman !  That  was  severe !  "  said  Foma 
gazing  at  him  in  ama..ement,  as  he  seated  himself  on  the 
divan. 

Ezhoff,  hunching  up  his  shoulders,  walked  to  the  table, 
poured  out  half  a  tea-glass  full  of  vodka,  swallowed  it,  and 
sat  down  at  the  table,  with  drooping  head.  For  a  minute 
they  both  remained  sJent.  Then  Foma  said  timidly,  in  a 
low  tone: 

"  How  did  this  all  come  i.bout  ...  we  hadn't  a  chance 
to  wink,  and — all  of  a  sudden,  such  a  calling  to  account — 
hey?" 

"  You! "  exclaimed  Ezhoff,  in  an  undertone,  throwing 
back  his  head,  and  gazing  at  Foma  with  a  wild,  malignant 
expression: — "Hold  your  tongue!  You  .  .  .  the  devil 
take  you  .  .  .  Lie  down  and  go  to  sleep!  .  .  You 
monster    .    .    You  nightmare    .    .    .    phew! " 

And  he  shook  his  fist  at  Foma.  Then  he  poured  out  some 
more  vodka  and  tossed  it  off. 

A  few  minutes  later  Foma,  undressed,  and  stretched  out 
on  the  divan,  through  his  half-closed  eyes,  was  watching 
Ezhoff,  as  the  latter  sat  motionless,  in  a  broken  attitude,  at 
the  table.  He  was  staring  at  the  floor,  and  his  lips  were 
moving  softly  .  .  Foma  was  astonished — he  did  not 
understand  why  Ezhoff  had  been  so  enraged  at  him.    It 

412 


Foma  Gordydeff 

could  not  be  because  he  had  been  ordered  out  of  his  lodg- 
ings ?    For  it  was  he  himself  who  had  been  shouting    .    . 

"  0  the  devil/^  whispered  Ezhoff,  and  gritted  his  teeth. 

Foma  raised  his  head  cautiously  from  the  pillow.  Ezhoff, 
with  a  deep  and  noisy  sigh,  was  reaching  out  for  the  bottle 
again    .    .    .    Then  Foma  said  to  him,  very  quietly: 

"We'd  better  go  oS  to  some  hotel  .  .  It's  not  lata 
yet   .    ." 

Ezhoff  looked  at  him,  and  laughed  oddly,  as  he  rubbed  his 
head  with  his  hands.  Then  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  said 
curtly  to  Foma: 

"Dress  yourself!  ^* 

And  perceiving  how  slowly  and  awkwardly  Foma  turned 
himself  on  the  divan,  he  shouted,  impatiently  and  angrily: 

"  Come,  be  quick! — Embodiment  of  awkwardness  .  .  . 
symbolical  cart-shaft! " 

"  Don't  curse!  "  said  Fomd,  with  a  pacific  smile.  "  Is  it 
worth  while  to  go  into  a  passion  because  a  woman  has 
squawked?" 

Ezhoff  cast  a  glance  at  him,  spat  aside,  and  uttered  a  harsh 
laugh. 


418 


XIII 

"  Aee  all  here  ? ''  asked  Ilya  Ef imovitch  Kononoff,  as  he 
stood  on  the  bow  of  his  new  steamer,  and,  with  beaming 
eyes,  surveyed  the  throng  of  gnests. — "  Apparently,  all!  " 

And  raising  his  fat,  red,  happy  face  upwards,  he  shouted 
to  the  captain,  who  was  already  stationed  on  the  bridge  be- 
side the  speaking-tube: 

"  Cast  off,  Petriikha!  " 

"  Yes,  sir! " 

The  captain  bared  his  huge,  bald  head,  crossed  himself 
vehemently,  glanced  at  the  sky,  passed  his  hand  over  his 
broad,  black  beard,  grunted,  and  gave  the  command: 

"  Back  her! " 

The  guests  silently  and  attentively  watched  the  manoeu- 
vres of  the  captain,  and,  following  his  example,  they  also  be- 
gan to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  their  caps  and  tall  hats 
flashing  through  the  air  like  a  flock  of  black  birds,  as  they 
did  so. 

"Bless,  0  Lord! "  exclaimed  Kononoff  with  emotion. 

"  Cast  off  astern!    Go  ahead!  "  commanded  the  captain. 

The  huge  "  Ilya  Miirometz,"  with  a  vast  sigh,  discharged 
against  the  edge  of  the  wharf  a  thick  cloud  of  white  steam, 
and  moved  up  stream  as  smoothly  as  a  swan. 

"  Ekh,  we're  off! "  rapturously  cried  Commercial  Coun- 
sellor Lup  Grigorieff  Eyeznikoff,  a  tall,  thin,  good-looking 
man. — "  It  never  quivered!    It's  like  a  lady  in  the  dance!  " 

"Half -speed!" 

414 


Fomk  Gordy^eff 

"  It's  not  a  ship — but  the  Leviathan/'  piously  ejaculated 
pock-marked,  round-shouldered  Trofim  Zuboff,  verger  of 
the  cathedral,  and  the  principal  usurer  in  town. 

It  was  a  gray  day;  the  sky,  thickly  veiled  in  autumn 
clouds,  was  reflected  in  the  water  of  the  river,  and  imparted 
to  it  a  cold,  leaden  hue.  Dazzling  in  its  fresh  paint,  the 
steamer  floated  along  over  the  monotone  ground  of  the  river 
like  a  huge,  brilliant  spot,  and  the  black  smoke  of  its  breath 
hung  like  a  heavy  cloud  in  the  air.  White  all  over,  with  pink 
paddle-boxes  and  bright-red  wheels,  it  lightly  cut  the  cold 
water  with  its  sharp  bow,  and  drove  it  away  shoreward,  but 
the  glass  in  the  round  windows  of  the  sides  and  in  the  win- 
dows of  the  cabin,  gleamed  brilliantly,  as  though  smiling 
with  a  self-satisfied,  triumphant  smile. 

"  Gentlemen  of  this  honorable  party! "  cried  Kononoff 
removing  his  hat  from  his  head,  and  making  a  low  bow  to 
his  guests. — "  Since  we  have  now  rendered  unto  God  the 
thin.^s  that  are  God's,  so  to  speak,  pray  permit  the  musicians 
to  render  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's!  " 

And  without  awaiting  an  answer  from  his  guests,  he  placed 
his  fist  to  his  mouth,  and  shouted: 

"Band!    Play  '  Glory! '" 

The  military  band,  stationed  behind  the  engine,  thun- 
dered out  the  march. 

But  Makar  Pobroff,  founder  and  director  of  the  local 
commercial  bank,  began  to  sing  the  words  in  a  pleasant  bass 
voice,  beating  time  with  his  fingers  on  his  huge  stomach: 

*' Glory,  glo-ory  to  our  Eussian  Tzar    ,     .    tra-ra-ta !  Boom !  " 

"  I  invite  you  to  the  table,  gentlemen!  Do  me  the  favor! 
Take  pot-luck  .  .  he,  he!  I  entreat  you  most  humbly 
.  .  ."  Kononoff  invited  them,  pushing  himself  through 
the  dense  throng  of  guests.    The  older  men  among  them, 

415 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

bald  and  gray,  were  clad  in  old-fashioned  frock-coats,  caps 
and  boots  with  bottle-shaped  tops.  But  there  were  not  many 
such:  chimney-pot  hats,  shoes  and  fashionable  cutaway 
coats,  preponderated.  They  were  all  crowded  together  on 
the  bow  of  the  steamer,  and  in  response  to  Kononoff's  en- 
treaties, they  gradually  drifted  off  to  the  stem,  covered  with 
an  awning,  where  stood  tables  spread  with  the  luncheon. 
Lup  Ryeznikoff  went  arm  in  arm  with  Yakoff  Mayakin, 
and  bending  down  to  his  ear  whispered  something  to  him, 
while  the  latter  listened  and  smiled.  Foma,  who  had  been 
brought  to  the  festivity  by  his  god-father,  after  long  ex- 
hortations, found  no  partner  for  himself  among  these  men 
who  were  repulsive  to  him,  and,  pale  and  surly,  held  him- 
self aloof  from  them.  For  the  last  two  days  he  had  been 
drinking  heavily,  in  the  company  of  Ezhoff,  and  now  his 
head  was  splitting  with  a  drunken  headache.  He  felt  awk- 
ward in  this  respectable,  jolly  company;  the  rumble  of 
voices,  the  thunder  of  the  music,  and  the  noise  of  the 
steamer — all  irritated  him.  He  felt  an  actual  necessity  to 
get  drunk,  and  one  thought  gave  him  no  rest — why  was  his 
god-father  so  caressingly  amiable  with  him  today,  and  why 
had  he  dragged  him  hither  into  the  company  of  these  men, 
the  chief  merchants  in  the  town?  Why  had  he  argued  so 
persuasively  with  him,  and  even  entreated  him  to  attend 
Kononoff'o  Prayer-service  and  dinner? 

"  Now,  don't  be  foolish,  come  along!  "  Fom4  recalled  his 
god-father's  exhortation. — "Why  are  you  so  shy?  A  man 
gets  his  character  from  nature,  and  in  wealth  you  are  the 
inferior  of  few  .  .  You  must  treat  everyone  alike  .  .  . 
come  along! " 

"  And  when  are  you  going  to  talk  seriously  with  me, 
papa?"  asked  Foma,  watching  the  play  of  Yakoff  Taraso- 
vitch's  visage  and  green  eyes. 

416 


Fom&  Gordyeeff 

"You  mean  about  setting  you  free  from  business? 
He,  he!  We'll  talk  about  that,  we'll  talk  about  that,  my 
friend!  You're  a  queer  fellow!  Are  you  going  to  enter  a 
monastery  when  you  have  flung  away  your  wealth?  .  . 
hey?" 

"  I'll  see    .    .    when  the  time  comes!  '^  replied  Foma. 

"  Just  so  .  .  .  Well,  and  meanwhile,  before  you  go  to 
the  monastery, — come  along!  Make  ready  quickly  .  . 
Eub  your  sign-board  with  something  wet,  for  it's  much 
swollen.  And  sprinkle  yourself  with  cologne  water, — get 
some  from  Liiiba, — so  that  you  will  not  stink  of  the  pot- 
house   .    .    Come  on!  " 

Arriving  at  the  steamer  during  the  Prayer-service,  Foma 
took  up  his  post  at  one  side,  and  during  the  whole  service  he 
watched  the  merchants. 

They  stood  in  devout  silence;  their  faces  wore  an  expres- 
sion of  pious  concentration,  they  prayed  vehemently  and 
zealously,  sighing  deeply,  bowing  low,  casting  their  eyes 
heavenward  with  emotion.  But  as  Foma  looked,  now  at 
one,  now  at  another,  he  called  to  mind  what  he  knew  about 
each  one. 

There  was  Lup  Eyeznikoff, — he  had  begun  his  career  as 
the  keeper  of  a  house  of  evil  repute,  and  had  grown  rich  al- 
most immediately.  It  was  said  that  he  had  strangled  one  of 
his  patrons,  a  rich  Siberian  .  .  Zuboff,  in  his  youth,  had 
made  a  business  of  buying  thread  from  the  peasants.  Twice 
had  he  been  a  bankrupt  .  .  Kononoff,  twenty  years  ago, 
had  been  tried  on  a  charge  of  arson,  and  even  now  he  was 
under  indictment  for  the  seduction  of  minors.  Along  with 
him — and  this  was  for  the  second  offence  of  that  sort, — 
Zakhar  Kirllloff  Eobustofl, — a  short,  fat  merchant,  with  a 
round  face  and  merry  blue  eyes, — had  been  implicated  in 
the  same  affair.    Among  these  men  there  was  hardly  a  single 

417 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

one,  concerning  whom  Foma  did  not  know  something  dis- 
graceful. 

And  he  knew  that  all  of  them  were  certainly  envying 
Kononoff  for  his  success,  because,  year  after  year,  he  was 
constantly  increasing  the  number  of  his  steamers.  Many 
of  them  were  at  sword's  points  with  each  other,  and  not  one 
of  them  would  show  any  mercy  to  the  rest  in  a  well-fought 
business  matter,  and  all  knew  evil,  dishonorable  things  about 
each  other  .  .  .  But  now,  gathering  around  the  tri- 
umphant, happy  Kononoff,  they  were  merged  in  a  dense, 
dark  mass,  and  stood  and  breathed  as  one  man,  with  con- 
centrated silence,  and  surrounded  by  something  which  was 
invisible  but  strong,  something  which  repelled  Foma  from 
them,  and  made  him  timid  in  their  presence. 

"  Impostors!  "  he  said,  to  himself,  by  way  of  encouraging 
himself. 

But  they  softly  coughed,  sighed,  crossed  themselves,  made 
reverences,  and  surrounding  the  ecclesiastics  in  a  dense  wall, 
stood  immovably  and  steadfastly,  like  huge,  black  stones. 

"  They  are  pretending!  "  cried  Foma  to  himself.  But 
hunch-backed,  one-eyed  Pavlin  Gushtchin,  who  was  stand- 
ing beside  him,  and  who,  not  long  before,  had  turned  his 
half-witted  brother's  children  into  the  street,  was  whisper- 
ing penetratingly,  as  he  gazed  at  the  melancholy  sky  with 
his  one  eye : 

"  0  Lo-ord!  Rebuke  me  not  in  Thine  indignation,  neither 
chasten  me  in  Thy  displeasure    .    ." 

And  Foma  felt  that  this  man  was  calling  upon  God  with 
the  most  profound,  most  steadfast  faith  in  His  mercy. 

"  0  Lord  God  of  our  fathers,  who  didst  command  Noah, 
Thy  servant,  to  make  an  ark  for  the  salvation  of  the  world," 
said  the  priest,  in  a  deep  bass  voice,  casting  his  eyes  toward 
heaven,  and  elevating  his  hands: — "Watch,  also,  over  this 

418 


Foma  Gordyeefif 

vessel,  and  give  unto  it  an  angel  favorable,  peaceful  .  ,  . 
preserve  them  that  shall  sail  upon  it    .    .    /'  ^ 

The  merchants,  in  unison,  with  broad  flourishes  of  their 
arms,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  their  breasts,  and  one 
sentiment  was  depicted  on  all  their  countenances — faith  in 
the  power  of  prayer. 

All  these  pictures  engraved  themselves  in  Foma's  memory, 
aroused  in  him  perplexity  as  to  these  men,  who,  while  man- 
aging to  cherish  firm  faith  in  God's  mercy,  were  so  harsh 
toward  their  fellow-men.  He  watched  them  intently,  de- 
sirous of  catching  them  in  a  fraud,  to  convince  himself  of 
their  falsehood    .    . 

He  was  angered  by  their  compact  firmness,  by  that  unani- 
mous confidence  in  themselves,  tneir  triumphant  faces,  their 
loud  voices,  and  laughter.  They  had  now  reached  the  table, 
set  out  with  the  repast,  and  were  ravenously  admiring  a 
huge  sturgeon,  almost  a  fathom  in  length,  handsomely  sprin- 
kled over  with  greens  and  large  crawfish.  Trofim  Zuboff, 
tying  a  napkin  round  his  neck,  gazed  with  blissful,  sweetly- 
puckered  eyes,  at  the  monster-fish,  and  said  to  his  neighbor, 
the  flour-mill  proprietor,  lona  Yushkoff : 

"  lona  Nikiforitch!  Look — a  whale!  Quite  big  enough 
to  make  a  case  for  your  person,  perhaps  .  .  .  hey?  Ha, 
ha!  You  could  slip  into  him  as  easily  as  into  your  boots, 
hey?    He,  he!'' 

Plump  little  lona  stretched  out  his  short  arm  to  the  silver 

pail  filled  with  fresh  caviar,  smacked  his  hps  greedily,  and 

cast  a  furtive  glance  at  the  bottles  in  front  of  him,  being 

afraid  of  upsetting  them. 

'  From  the  Church  service  appointed  for  blessing  vessels.  There  is 
a  special  service,  in  addition,  for  war-vessels.  Vessels  are  not  ''bap- 
tized" or  "  christened  "  in  Russia;  as  they  are  not  endowed  with  im- 
mortal souls,  this  would  be  regarded  as  sacrilege ;  and  the  name  of  the 
vessel  is  not  mentioned  in  the  service. —  Translator. 

419 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

Opposite  Kononoff,  on  trestles,  stood  a  cask  holding  about 
a  gallon  and  a  half  of  old  vodka,  which  he  had  ordered  from 
Poland;  in  a  huge  shell,  hooped  with  silver,  lay  oysters,  and 
high  above  all  the  viands,  rose  a  motley-hued  pasty,  made  in 
the  shape  of  a  tower. 

"Gentlemen!  I  beg  of  you!  Help  yourselves  to  what  you 
like!''  shouted  Kononoff. — "I  have  let  fly  everything  at 
once  .  .  that  every  man  may  suit  his  own  taste  .  .  Our 
Russian  viands,  native,  and  from  afar,  and  foreign  .  .  all 
together!  It's  better  so.  Who  wants  what?  Does  anybody 
want  snails,  or  these  crawfish — ^hey?  They're  from  India, 
I'm  told    .    .    ." 

But  Zuboff  said  to  his  neighbor  Mayakin: 

"  The  prayer  *  At  the  Building  of  a  Vessel '  does  not 
apply  to  tug-boats  and  river-steamers,  .  .  .  that  is  to 
say,  it  isn't  that  it  is  not  suitable,  but  it  is  not  enough  alone 
.  .  A  river-steamer  as  it  exists,  is  a  place  of  permanent 
residence  for  the  crew,  and  it  ought  to  be  classed  with  a 
house  .  .  Consequently,  it  is  necessary,  in  addition  to  the 
prayer  *  At  the  Building  of  a  Vessel '  to  recite  also  the 
prayer  at  the  founding  of  a  house  .  .  But  what  will  you 
have  to  drink?  " 

"  I'm  not  much  of  a  wine-drinker;  pour  me  out  some 
cumin  vodka    .    ."  rephed  Yakoff  Tarasovitch. 

Foma,  who  was  seated  at  the  end  of  the  table,  among  some 
shy,  modest  men  who  were  strangers  to  him,  repeatedly  felt 
the  old  man's  sharp  glances  upon  him. 

"  He's  afraid  I'll  kick  up  a  row  .  ."  said  Foma  to  him- 
eelf. 

"  Dear  brethren ! "  hoarsely  cried  the  monstrously  fat 
steamer-owner  Yashtchuroff. — "  I  can't  get  along  without 
herrings!  I  positivel;'  must  begin  with  herrings  .  .  that's 
my  way   .   .   ." 

420 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Band!    Give  us  '  The  Persian  March '    .    ." 

"Stop!    *  How  glorious  ^  is  better    .    .    /' 

"  Toot  away  *  How  glorious  '    .    /' 

The  throbbing  of  the  engine,  and  the  noise  of  the  paddle- 
wheels,  mingling  with  the  sounds  of  the  music,  formed  in 
the  air  something  which  resembled  the  wild  song  of  the 
winter  snow-storm.  The  whistle  of  the  flute,  the  sharp  sing- 
ing of  the  clarinets,  the  surly  growhng  of  the  basses,  the 
rattle  of  the  small  drum,  and  the  rumble  of  the  blows  on  the 
big  one, — all  fell  upon  the  dull  and  monotonous  sound  of 
the  wheels,  as  they  beat  upon  the  water,  rang  rebelliously 
through  the  air,  drowned  the  noise  of  the  people's  voices, 
and  floated  above  the  steamer  like  a  hurricane,  causing  the 
people  to  shout  at  the  top  of  their  lungs.  Sometimes,  in 
the  engine,  a  vicious  hiss  of  steam  resounded,  and  there  was 
something  irritable  and  contemptuous  in  this  sound,  which 
unexpectedly  broke  through  the  chaos  of  the  rumbling,  roar 
and  shouts    .    .     . 

"  I  shall  never  forget,  to  my  dying  day,  that  you  refused 
to  discount  my  note  of  hand!  "  shouted  someone,  in  a  vehe- 
ment voice. 

"  Sto-op!  Is  this  the  place  for  accounts?  "  rang  out  Bob- 
roff's  bass. 

"  Dear  brethren!    We  must  have  some  speeches  1 " 

"  Stop  that  band! '' 

"  You  come  to  see  me  at  the  bank,  and  I'll  explain  to  you 
why  I  would  not  discount    .    .    /' 

"Speech!    Silence!" 

"  Sto-op  the  mu-usic!  " 

"  Play,  *  in  the  Meadows '    .    .'* 

"  '  Madame  Anglou! '  " 

"  Not  wanted! — Yakoff  Tarasovitch,  I  beg  of  youl 

"  This  is  called  Strasburg  pate,        .'' 

421 


» 


Foma  Gordydeff 


*' Please!    Please!" 

"Patty?  I— it  doesn't  look  like  it  .  .  but  Til  eat  it,  all 
the  same    .    ." 

"Tarasiteh!    Act    .    .    ." 

"My  dear  brethren!    By  heaven    .    .    ." 

"  And  in  *  La  Belle  Helene '  she  came  out  almost  naked, 
the  darling  .  "  Eobustoff's  shrill  voice,  filled  with  emo- 
tion, suddenly  pierced  through  the  uproar. 

"Wait!    Jacob  cheated  Esau?    Aha!" 

"  I  can't!  My  tongue  isn't  a  hammer,  and  I'm  no  longer 
young   .    .    ." 

"Yasha!    We  all  entreat  you!    .    /' 

"Consider!" 

"  We'll  elect  you  Mayor!  " 

"  Tarasitch!    Don't  put  on  airs!  " 

"  Shsh!  Silence!  Gentlemen!  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  will 
say  a  few  words!  " 

"  Shsh! " 

And  just  at  the  moment  when  the  din  was  hushed,  some- 
one whispered  audibly,  in  a  loud,  displeased  tone: 

"  Ho-ow  she-e  will  pinch  me,  the  rogue    .    ." 

And  Bobroff  inquired  in  his  heavy  bass: 

"Whe-ere?" 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  which  suddenly  subsided, 
for  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  Mayakin,  rising  to  his  feet,  cleared 
his  throat,  and  smoothing  his  bald  spot,  surveyed  the  com- 
pany of  merchants  with  a  serious  gaze  awaiting  their  atten- 
tion. 

"Now,  brethren,  open  your  ears  wide!"  shouted  Kono- 
noff  with  satisfaction. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  merchant  class! "  began  Mayakin, 
with  a  smirk. — "  In  the  speeches  of  educated  and  learned 
folks,  there  is  a  foreign  word  called  *  culture.'    So  now,  in 

422 


Foma  Gordydeft' 

the  simplicity  of  my  soul,  I  am  going  to  discourse  to  you  on 
that  word    .    .    ." 

"  So  that's  what  he's  driving  at! " — ^rang  out  a  gratified 
cry  from  someone  present. 

"  Shsh!    Keep  quiet!  " 

"Dear  sirs!"  said  Mayakin,  raising  his  voice. — "Peopb 
are  constantly  writing  in  the  newspapers  about  us  of  the 
merchant  class, — that  we  are  not  acquainted  with  this  cult- 
ure, that  we  do  not  desire  it  and  do  not  understand  it.  And 
they  call  us  savage,  uncultivated  people  .  .  .  What  is 
culture?  It  offends  me,  old  man  as  I  am,  to  hear  such 
speeches,  and  one  day  I  made  a  point  of  looking  up  the 
word,  to  see  what  it  includes  in  itself." 

Mayakin  paused,  ran  his  eyes  over  his  audience,  and  with 
a  triumphant  grin,  continued: 

"  My  researches  proved  that  this  word  means  worship, 
that  is  to  say,  love,  lofty  love  for  business  and  order  in  life. 
So! — I  said  to  myself, — so! — That  means — that  a  cultured 
man  is  he  who  loves  business  and  order  .  .  who,  in  gen- 
eral, loves  to  arrange  life,  loves  to  live,  knows  the  value  of 
himself  and  of  life  .  .  Good! " — Yakoff  Tarasovitch 
quivered;  the  wrinkles  spread  out  on  his  face  in  rays  from 
his  smiling  eyes  to  his  lips,  and  his  whole  bald  head  became 
like  some  large,  dark  star. 

The  merchants  stared  silently  and  attentively  at  his 
mouth,  and  all  faces  were  strained  with  attention.  The  men 
had  fairly  petrified  in  the  attitudes  in  which  Mayakin's 
speech  had  found  them. 

"  But,  if  that  is  the  case, — and  it  is  precisely  thus  that 
we  must  interpret  that  word  if  it  is  so,  then  the  people  who 
call  us  uncultivated  and  savage,  calumniate  us,  and  spew  out 
obloquy  on  us!  For  they  love  this  word  only,  not  its  mean- 
ing, but  we  love  the  very  root  of  the  word,  we  love  its  actual 
inward  essence,  we — love  business!    And  we,  not  they,  have 

423 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

within  us  the  genuine  cult  toward  life,  that  is  to  say,  the 
adoration  of  life!  They  have  taken  a  liking  to  argument, 
we  to  action  .  .  .  And  here,  gentlemen,  is  an  example 
of  our  culture,  that  is,  of  our  love  for  business — the  Volga! 
Here  she  is,  our  own  dear  little  mother!  "With  every  drop 
of  her  water  she  can  confirm  our  honor,  and  refute  empty 
calumniation  of  us  .  .  Only  one  hundred  years  have 
elapsed,  gentlemen,  since  the  Emperor  Peter  the  Great 
launched  decked  barks  upon  this  river,  and  now  thousands 
of  steam  vessels  navigate  it  .  .  Who  has  built  them?  The 
Eussian  peasant,  an  utterly  untutored  man!  All  these  huge 
steamers  and  barges — whose  are  they?  Ours!  By  whom 
were  they  planned?  By  us!  Everything  here  is  ours — 
everything  here  is  the  fruit  of  our  brains,  of  our  Eussian 
gumption  and  great  love  for  business!  No  one  has  aided  us 
in  any  way  whatever!  We  ourselves  exterminated  brigand- 
age on  the  Volga,  we  ourselves  with  our  own  rubles  hired 
the  troops — exterminated  brigandage  and  introduced  on  the 
Volga  thousands  of  steamers  and  various  vessels  on  all  the 
thousands  of  versts  of  her  course.  Which  is  the  best  town 
on  the  Volga?  In  which  are  there  the  most  merchants?  To 
whom  do  the  finest  houses  in  the  town  belong?  The  mer- 
chants! Who  takes  the  most  care  of  the  poor?  The  mer- 
chant! He  collects  half -kopeks  and  kopeks;  he  contributes 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  rubles.  Who  builds  the  churches? 
We  do!  Whogivesthemost  money  of  all  to  the  empire?  The 
merchants!  .  .  .  Gentlemen!  To  us  alone  is  business 
dear  for  its  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  our  love  of  introducing 
order  into  life,  and  we  alone  love  order  and  life!  But  any- 
one who  talks  about  us — ^talks,  and  that  is  all!  Let  him  talk! 
When  the  wind  blows,  the  willow  rustles,  when  it  ceases, 
the  willow  becomes  silent  .  .  .  And  neither  cart-shafts 
nor  brooms  can  be  made  out  of  the  willow  .  .  .  'tis  a  use- 
less tree!    And  it  is  noisy  because  it  is  useless    .    .    What 

434 


Fomi  Gordydteff 

have  they,  our  judges,  accomplished,  in  what  way  have  they 
embellished  life?  We  do  not  know  .  .  But  our  work  is 
in  plain  sight!  Gentlemen  of  the  merchant  class!  Seeing 
in  you,  as  I  do,  the  most  prominent  people  in  life,  the  men 
who  are  most  industrious  and  attached  to  their  work,  seeing 
in  you  the  men  who  have  done  everything  and  can  do  every- 
thing,— I  now,  with  all  my  heart,  with  respect  and  love  for 
you,  raise  my  brimming  beaker — to  the  glorious,  strong  in 
spirit,  laborious  Eussian  merchant-class!  .  .  .  Long  life 
to  you!  Long  may  you  thrive  for  the  glory  of  mother  Eus- 
sia!    Hurrah-rah! " 

Mayakin's  sharp,  jarring  shout  called  forth  a  deafening, 
triumphant  roar,  from  the  merchants.  All  those  huge, 
fleshy  bodies,  excited  with  wine,  and  the  old  man's  speech, 
began  to  move,  and  emitted  from  their  chests  such  a  vigor- 
ous, massive  shout,  that  everything  in  the  vicinity  seemed 
to  quiver  and  shake. 

"  Yakoff !  You  are  the  trumpet  of  God!  '^ — shouted  Zu- 
boff,  holding  out  his  champagne-glaso  to  Mayakin. 

Overturning  their  chairs,  knocking  against  the  table, 
which  caused  the  bottles  and  dishes  to  clatter  and  fall,  the 
merchants  rushed  at  Mayakin,  glasses  in  hand,  excited,  joy- 
ous, some  with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

"  Ah!  What  has  been  said? ''  inquired  Kononoff,  grasp- 
ing Eobustoff  by  the  shoulder,  and  shaking  him. — "  Under- 
stand it!    A  great  speech  has  been  made! '' 

"  Yakoff  Tarasovitch!    Let  me  kiss  you!  '* 

"  Let's  toss  Mayakin!  " 

"  Start  the  music,  band!  " 

''The fanfare!    A  march!    .    .  ihe  Persian  March  .  .  »* 

"  We  don't  want  any  music!    To  the  devil  with  it!  '^ 

"  Ekh,  Yakoff  Tarasovitch!    The  Ma-ay  or!  " 

"I  was  the  least  among  my  brethren  .  .  but  I  had 
understanding    .    .'^ 

425 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Nonsense,  Trofim! " 

"  Yakoff!  You'll  die  soon,  ekh,  more's  the  pity!  It's  im- 
possible to  express  how  sorry  we  are!  " 

"  Gentlemen!  Let's  establish  a  fund  in  the  name  of  Maya- 
kin!    I'll  give  a  thousand!  " 

"Silence!    Wait!" 

"  Gentlemen!  " — Yakoff  Tarasovitch  began  again,  trem- 
bling all  over. — "  And  the  reason  why  we  are  the  principal 
people  in  life  and  the  real  masters  in  our  fatherland,  is — 
because  we  are  peasants! " 

"  True! " 

"  That's  so!  We  come  by  it  legitimately!  Now  then,  old 
man! " 

"Stop!    Let  him  finish!  " 

"  We  are  the  original  Eussians,  and  everything  which  pro- 
ceeds from  us,  is  native  Russian!  That  signifies  that  it  is 
of  the  most  genuine  sort  .  .  the  most  useful  and  obliga- 
tory   .    .    ." 

"  As  clear  as  that  two  and  two  make  four! " 

"  Simple." 

"  Wise  as  a  serpent!  " 

"  And  gentle  as    .    .    .'^ 

"A  vulture!    Ha,  ha!" 

The  merchants  surrounded  their  orator  in  a  dense  ring, 
gazed  at  him  with  their  greasy  eyes,  and,  in  their  excitement, 
were  incapable  of  listening  to  him  quietly.  Around  him 
rose  a  din  of  voices,  which,  mingling  with  the  noise  of  the 
engine,  and  the  beating  of  the  paddle-wheels  upon  the  water, 
formed  a  whirlwind  of  sound,  that  drowned  the  old  man's 
voice.  The  merchants'  excitement  increased;  all  faces 
beamed  with  triumph;  hands  holding  glasses  were  out- 
stretched to  Mayakin;  they  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder, 
jostled  him,  kissed  him,  gazed  with  emotion  into  his  face. 
And  someone  exclaimed  in  rapture; 

426 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  The  Ka-marinskaya!    The  Russian  tune!  "  * 

"  We  have  done  it  all!  " — shouted  Yakoff  Tarasovitch, 
pointing  at  the  river. — "  It's  all  ours!  We  have  reduced  life 
to  order! " 

All  at  once  a  loud  shout,  which  rose  above  all  the  rest, 
rang  out: 

"Ah!    You  did  it?    Ah,  you    .    .    ." 

Then  a  vulgar  oath  resounded  distinctly  through  the  air, 
uttered  with  great  venom,  in  a  dull  but  powerful  voice. 
Everyone  heard  it,  and,  for  a  second,  fell  silent,  seeking 
with  their  eyes  the  person  who  had  cursed  them.  During 
that  second,  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  deep  sighs  of 
the  engine,  and  the  creaking  of  the  rudder-chains. 

"  Who's  that  snarling?  "  inquired  Kononoff,  with  a  frown. 

"Ekh!  We  can't  help  behaving  outrageously!"  ejacu- 
lated Ryeznikoff,  with  a  contrite  sigh. 

"  Who's  that  swearing  at  random!  " 

The  countenances  of  the  merchants  expressed  agitation, 
curiosity,  amazement,  reproach,  and  all  grew  restless,  in  a 
subdued  sort  of  way.  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  alone  remained 
calm,  and  even  seemed  pleased  at  what  had  occurred.  Ris- 
ing on  tiptoe,  he  looked  away  toward  the  end  of  'the  table, 
straining  his  neck,  and  his  little  eyes  gleamed  as  though  he 
beheld  something  that  was  gratifying  to  him. 

"Gordyeeff    .    ."  said  lona  Yashkoff  softly. 

And  all  heads  were  turned  in  that  direction,  in  which 

Yakoff  Mayakin  was  staring. 

*  The  most  popular  folk-song — or,  rather,  folk-melody — in  Russia. 
It  is  founded  on  the  historical  facts  and  conditions  upon  what  were  the 
frontiers,  south  of  Moscow,  several  centuries  ago;  and  the  words, 
thus  understood,  have  coherence  and  meaning.  But  only  fragments 
of  the  many  verses  can  be  used,  so  coarse  is  the  general  character  of 
the  words.  The  tune,  however,  is  very  gay  and  irresistible. — Trans- 
lator. 

427 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

There,  with,  his  hands  resting  on  the  table,  stood  Fomd. 
"With  his  face  distorted  by  bitter  wrath,  his  teeth  exposed  in 
a  snarl,  he  was  staring  in  silence  at  the  merchants  with  burn- 
ing, widely-opened  eyes.  His  lower  jaw  was  trembling,  his 
shoulders  were  jerking,  and  his  fingers,  clutching  violently 
at  the  edge  of  the  table,  scratched  the  table-cloth  convul- 
sively. At  the  sight  of  his  face,  wicked  as  that  of  a  wolf, 
and  that  wrathful  attitude,  the  merchants  remained  silent 
for  a  second. 

"  What  are  you  opening  your  eyes  at  me  for?  " — asked 
Foma,  and  again  accompanied  his  question  with  a  vehement 
oath. 

"  He's  drunk!  "  said  Bobroff,  shaking  his  head. 

"  And  why  was  he  invited?  "  whispered  Eyeznikoff  softly. 

"Foma  Ignatievitch!  "  began  Kononoff  with  diginty. — 
"  There's  no  necessity  for  behaving  indecently  .  .  If  .  . 
well  .  .  if  your  head  is  reeling — go  quietly,  peaceably  into 
the  cabin,  my  good  fellow — and  lie  down!  Lie  down,  my 
dear  friend  and    .    .    ." 

"  Shut  up! "  bellowed  Foma,  turning  his  eyes  on  Kono- 
noff. — "Don't  you  dare  to  speak  to  me!  Fm  not  drunk  .  . 
I'm  the  soberest  man  here!    Do  you  understand?  " 

"  But  wait  a  bit,  my  dear  soul — who  invited  you  here?  " 
inquired  Kononojff,  turning  scarlet  with  the  affront. 

"  I  brought  him!  "  rang  out  Mayakin's  voice. 

^^Ah!  Well,  then  .  .  of  course  .  .  .  Excuse  me, 
Foma  Ignatievitch  .  .  But  as  you  brought  him  Yakoff, 
.  .  you  must  tame  him  down  .  .  Otherwise,  there'U  be 
trouble    .    .    ." 

Foma  said  nothing,  and  smiled.  And  the  merchants  held 
their  peace,  as  they  gazed  at  him. 

"Ekh,  Fomka!"  began  Mayakin  .  .  "Here  you  are 
disgracing  my  old  age  again    .    .    ." 

428 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"Papa-godfather! "  said  Foma,  displaying  his  teeth  in  a 
grin.  "  I  haven't  done  anything  yet,  so  it's  rather  early  in 
the  day  to  read  me  a  lecture  .  .  I'm  not  drunk  .  .  I  have 
drunk  nothing,  but  I  have  heard  everything  .  .  .  Gentle- 
men merchants!  Will  you  permit  me  to  make  you  a  speech  ? 
My  god-father,  whom  you  respect,  has  had  his  say  .  .  and 
now,  do  you  listen  to  his  godson    .    .    ." 

"  Speeches,  indeed?  "  said  Eyeznikoff. — "  Why  have  any 
discourses?    We  came  together  to  have  a  good  time    .    .    ." 

"  Come,  drop  it,  Foma  Ignatievitch    .    .    ." 

"  Better  take  a  drink    .    .    ." 

"  Let's  have  a  drink!  Foma,  you're  the  true  son  of  your 
glorious  father! " 

Foma,  pushed  away  from  the  table,  straightened  himself 
up,  and,  still  smiling,  listened  to  the  flattering,  admonitory 
speeches.  Among  all  these  prominent  men,  he  was  the 
youngest  and  the  handsomest.  His  well-built  figure,  in  its 
closely-fitting  coat,  marked  him  out  to  advantage  among  the 
mass  of  fat  bodies  with  prominent  stomachs.  His  swarthy 
face  with  its  large  eyes,  was  more  regular,  more  rosy  than 
the  red  shrivelled  ugly  visages  of  those  who  stood  opposite 
him,  with  expectancy  and  amazement.  He  inflated  his  chest, 
set  his  teeth,  and  pulling  apart  the  skirts  of  his  frock-coat, 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"  You  can't  plaster  up  my  mouth  now  with  flattery  and 
endearments!  " — ^he  said  firmly  and  menacingly.  "  You  may 
listen  or  not,  but  I  am  going  to  talk  .  .  There's  no  chance 
to  turn  me  out  here    .    .    ." 

He  swayed  his  head,  and  elevating  his  shoulders,  an- 
nounced quietly: 

"  But  if  anyone  so  much  as  puts  a  finger  on  me — ^I'll  kill 
him!  I  swear  it,  by  the  Lord  God!  .  .  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  I'll  kill  him! " 

429 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

The  throng  of  men  opposite  him  rocked  to  and  fro  like 
bushes  in  the  wind.  Agitated  whispers  resounded.  Foma's 
face  darkened,  his  eyes  grew  round    .    . 

"  Well,  it  has  been  stated  that  you  have  made  this  life  .  . 
and  that  you  have  made  it  of  the  most  genuine  and  truthful 
sort    .    ." 

Foma  drew  a  deep  breath  and  with  inexpressible  hatred 
gazed  at  the  faces  of  his  hearers,  which  seemed  strangely 
puffed-up,  all  of  a  sudden,  as  though  they  were  swollen  .  . 
The  merchants  remained  silent,  pressing  closer  and  closer 
to  one  another  .  .  .  Someone  in  the  rear  ranks  mut- 
tered: 

"  What's  he  talking  about?  Hey?  From  print,  or  out  of 
his  own  head? '' 

"  0,  you  rascals!  "  exclaimed  Gordyeeff,  swaying  his  head. 
— "  What  have  you  made  ?  you  have  not  made  life — but  a 
prison  .  .  You  have  not  established  order — but  you  have 
forged  chains  on  men  .  .  .  It's  close,  suffocating,  there's 
no  place  for  a  living  soul  to  turn  .  .  .  Man  is  perishing! 
— You  are  murderers  .  .  .  Do  you  understand,  that  you 
are  alive  only  through  the  long-suffering  of  mankind?  " 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  exclaimed  Eyeznikoff, 
clasping  his  hands  in  indignation  and  wrath. — "  Ilya  Eflm- 
off?  What's  the  meaning  of  this?  I  won't  listen  to  such 
remarks    .    .    ." 

"  Gordyeeff !"  shouted  Bobroff  .  .  "  Look  out— you're 
talking  improperly    .    ." 

"  For  such  speeches,  oi,  oi,  oi!  "  said  Bobroff  reprovingly. 

"  Shut  up! "  roared  Foma,  and  his  eyes  became  suffused 
with  blood.    "  There  you  go  grunting    .    .    ." 

"  Gentlemen!  "  rang  out  the  calmly- vicious  voice  of  Maya- 
kin,  like  the  screech  of  a  file  on  iron. — "  Don't  touch  him! 
.    .    I  earnestly  entreat  you    .    .    don't  hinder  him    .    . 

430 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Let  him  snarl  away  .  .  let  him  amuse  himself  .  .  His 
words  won't  break  you    .    ." 

"  Well,  no,  I  thank  you  most  sincerely! "  shouted  Yush- 
koff. 

But  Smolin  stood  alongside  of  Foma,  and  whispered  in 
his  ear: 

"  Stop,  my  dear  fellow!  What  ails  you — ^have  you  gone 
crazy?    They'll  do  you    .    .    ." 

"  Go  away!  "  said  Foma  firmly,  flashing  angry  eyes  at  him. 
— "  Go  off  yonder,  to  Mayakin,  lick  him  down  .  .  .  per- 
haps a  piece  will  fall  to  your  share!  " 

Smolin  emitted  a  whistle  through  his  teeth,  and  stepped 
aside.  And  the  merchants,  one  after  the  other,  began  to 
stroll  away  about  the  steamer.  This  still  further  exasperated 
Foma:  he  would  have  liked  to  fetter  them  all  to  the  spot  by 
his  words, — and  he  could  find  no  such  powerful  words  within 
himself. 

"You  have  made  life?"  he  shouted. — "Who  are  you? 
Swindlers,  thieves    .    .    ." 

Several  men  turned  toward  Foma,  as  though  he  had  called 
them. 

"  Kononoff !  Are  they  going  to  try  you  soon  about  that 
little  girl?  They'll  sentence  you  to  hard  labor  .  .  .  good- 
bye, Ilya!  It  is  no  use  for  you  to  build  steamers  .  .  . 
they'll  carry  you  to  Siberia  on  a  Government  vessel    .    .    .'' 

Kononoff  dropped  into  a  chair;  his  face  became  suffused 
with  blood,  and  he  silently  shook  his  fist.  Foma  said 
hoarsely: 

"  All  right   .    .    .    good    .    .    I  won't  forget  that   .    .    ^ 

Foma  perceived  his  distorted  face,  with  its  quivering  lips, 
and  understood  With  what  weapons  he  could  smite  these  men, 
and  in  the  most  forcible  way  possible. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!     The  constructors  of  life!     Gushtchin, — 

431 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

are  you  going  to  give  alms  to  your  little  nephews?  Do  give 
them  at  least  one  kopek  a  day  .  .  .  that^s  not  much — you 
have  stolen  sixty-seven  thousand  rubles  from  them  .  .  . 
Bobroff!  Why  did  you  tell  that  lie  about  your  mistress — 
that  she  had  robbed  you, — and  send  her  to  prison?  If  you 
had  got  tired  of  her — you  might  have  given  her  to  your  son 
.  .  .  it  makes  no  difference,  for  now  he  has  set  up  an 
intrigue  with  your  other  one  .  .  .  Didn't  you  know  it? 
Ekh,  you  fat  hog  .  .  ha,  ha!  And  you,  Lup, — open  that 
gay  house  of  yours  again,  and  strip  your  guests  there  like 
linden-trees  .  .  .^  The  devils  will  strip  you,  later  on,  ha, 
ha!  .  .  It's  a  good  thing  to  be  a  scoundrel,  with  that  pious 
face  of  yours!    .    .    .    Whom  did  you  kill  then,  Lup?  " 

Foma  talked  on,  interrupting  his  speech  with  loud,  ma- 
licious laughter,  and  saw  that  his  words  were  taking  effect 
on  these  people.  Previously,  when  he  had  addressed  his 
remarks  to  them  as  a  whole,  they  had  turned  away  from 
him,  had  gone  aside,  assembled  in  groups,  and  stared  from 
a  distance  at  their  accuser,  with  contemptuous  and  evil  eyes. 
He  beheld  smiles  on  their  faces,  he  was  conscious  of  some- 
thing scornful  in  their  every  movement,  and  comprehended 
that  his  words,  while  they  enraged  them,  did  not  pierce  as 
deep  as  he  wished  them  to  do.  All  this  chilled  his  wrath, 
and  a  bitter  sense  of  the  failure  of  his  attack  upon  them  was 
already  rising  in  him  .  .  .  But  just  as  soon  as  he  began 
to  talk  about  each  one  separately, — the  bearing  of  his  hearers 
toward  him  underwent  a  swift,  sharp  change. 

When  Kononoff  sank  heavily  down  beside  the  table,  as 
though  unable  to  bear  the  burden  of  Foma's  stern  words, — 
Foma  observed  that  across  the  countenances  of  several  of  the 

1  The  peasants'  shoes,  and  burlaps  to  wrap  up  anything  and  every- 
thing, from  sheet-iron,  trunks,  cases, — to  a  pound  of  cherries,  are 
made  of  linden-bark. — Translator. 

432 


Fomi  Gordyeeff 

merchants  flitted  caustic,  malignant  smiles.    He  heard  some- 
one say,  in  an  approving,  surprised  whisper: 

"The-ere    .    .    that's  fine!" 

This  whisper  lent  strength  to  Foma,  and  with  assurance, 
he  began  passionately  to  hurl  reproaches,  sneers,  and  oaths 
at  those  upon  whom  his  eyes  fell.  He  roared  joyously,  on 
seeing  that  his  words  were  taking  effect.  They  listened  to 
him  in  silence,  attentively;  several  men  moved  nearer  to  him. 

Exclamations  of  protest  became  audible,  but  they  were 
brief,  not  loud,  and  every  time  that  Foma  shouted  out  any- 
one's name, — all  became  silent,  and  listened,  and  glanced 
maliciously,  askance,  in  the  direction  of  their  comrade  thus 
attacked. 

Bobroff  laughed  in  confusion,  but  his  little  eyes  bored 
into  Foma  like  augers.  But  Lup  Eyeznikoff,  flourishing 
his  arms,  sprang  awkwardly  to  his  feet,  and  taking  a  long 
breath,  said: 

"Bear  witness  .  .  .  What's  this?  No,  I  will  not 
pardon  this!  I'll  go  to  the  justice  of  the  peace  .  .  . 
What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  And,  all  at  once,  he  squeaked 
in  a  thin  voice,  as  he  extended  his  arms  toward  Foma: 

"  Bind  him! " 

Foma  broke  into  loud  laughter. 

"You  can't  bind  the  truth,  you're  talking  nonsense! 
Even  when  it  is  bound,  it  does  not  grow  dumb    .    .    ." 

"  Goo-od!  "  said  Kononoff  slowly,  in  a  dull,  broken  voice. 

"  See  here,  gentlemen  of  the  merchant  class! "  tinkled 
Mayakin's  voice.  "  I  beg  that  you  will  admire  him — just  see 
what  a  fellow  he  is!  " 

One  after  another  the  merchants  moved  up  to  Foma,  and 
on  their  countenances  he  beheld  wrath,  curiosity,  a  malicious 
sentiment  of  satisfaction,  fear  .  .  .  One  of  the  modest 
men  among  whom  he  was  sitting,  whispered  to  Foma: 

433 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Give  it  to  them!  .  .  .  May  the  Lord  reward  you! 
.  .  Drive  ahead  at  them!  That  will  be  reckoned  to  your 
credit   .    .    ." 

"  Robustoff !  "  shouted  Foma. — "  What  are  you  laughing 
at?  What  are  you  rejoicing  over?  You  ought  to  be  in  the 
galleys  also    .    .    ." 

"  Put  him  ashore!  "  roared  Robustoff  suddenly,  springing 
to  his  feet. 

And  Kononoff  shouted  to  the  captain: 

"Put  back!    To  the  town!    To  the  Governor    .    .    J' 

And  someone  said,  in  a  reproving  voice,  which  was 
trembling  with  agitation: 

"  This  is  a  put-up  job  .  .  It  was  done  on  purpose  .  .  . 
He  has  been  put  up  to  this  .  .  and  made  drunk  to  give 
him  courage    .    .    J' 

"  Yes,  this  is  a  conspiracy!  " 

"  Bind  him!    It's  simple  enough — bind  him!  " 

Foma  seized  an  empty  champagne-bottle,  and  brandished 
it  in  the  air. 

"  Come  on!  No,  it  is  evident  that  you  will  be  forced  to 
listen  to  me    .    ." 

Again,  with  jovial  fury,  beside  himself  with  joy  to  see  these 
men  writhing  and  flinging  themselves  about  under  the  blows 
of  his  speech,  he  began  to  shout  out  names  and  vulgar  oaths, 
and  again  the  tumult  of  indignation  was  reduced  to  silence. 
The  men  whom  Foma  did  not  know,  gazed  at  him  with 
eager  curiosity,  encouragingly,  some,  even,  with  joyful  sur- 
prise. One  of  them,  a  small,  gray-haired  old  man,  with  rosy 
cheeks  and  eyes  like  a  mouse,  suddenly  turned  to  the  mer- 
chants whom  Foma  had  insulted,  and  chanted  in  a  sweet 
voice: 

"These  are  words  from  the  conscience!  Never  mind  it! 
You  must  bear  it    ...    A  prophetic  accusation    .    ,    . 

434 


Fomi  Gordyieff 

For  we  are  sinners!    You  see,  to  tell  the  truth,  we  are 
ve-e-ery    .    .    ." 

He  was  hissed,  and  Zuboff  even  gave  his  shoulder  a  knock. 
He  made  a  low  bow,  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd    .    . 

"  Zuboff !  "  shouted  Foma  .  .  "  How  many  people  have 
you  turned  out  of  house  and  home?  Do  you  have  visions 
of  Ivan  Petroff  Myakinoff,  who  strangled  himself,  because 
of  you  ?  Is  it  true,  that  you  steal  ten  rubles  from  the  church- 
box  at  every  Liturgy?  " 

Ziiboff  had  not  expected  to  be  attacked,  and  remained 
rooted  to  the  spot,  with  hand  upraised.  But  he  immediately 
after^-ards  began  to  whine  in  a  shrill  voice,  hopping  up  and 
down  queerly  on  one  spot: 

"  Ah!    You  attack  me  also?    Me-me,  also?  " 

And  suddenly  inflating  his  cheeks,  he  began  vehemently 
to  shake  his  fist  at  Foma,  crying  in  a  squeaking  voice: 

"  The  f  o-ol  hath  sa-aid  in  his  heart  .  .  .  there  is  no 
God!  .  .  .  I'll  go  to  the  Bishop!  Freemason!  To  the 
galleys  with  you! " 

The  uproar  on  the  steamer  increased,  and  Foma,  at  the 
sight  of  these  men  whom  he  had  enraged,  abashed  and  in- 
sulted, felt  himself  a  gigantic  hero  of  legends,  who  had  slain 
a  monster.  They  bustled  about,  flourished  their  arms,  said 
something  to  one  another, — some  crimson  with  wrath,  others 
pale,  all  equally  powerless  to  stop  the  flood  of  his  jeers  at 
them. 

"  The  sailors!  " — shouted  Eyeznikoff,  plucking  at  Konon- 
off's  shoulder.  "What  are  you  thinking  of,  Ilya/*  Hey? 
Did  you  invite  us  to  be  ridiculed?  ^' 

"  By  a  puppy    .    .    ."  whimpered  Zuboff. 

A  throng  collected  around  Yakoff  Tanisovitch  Mayakin, 
and  listened  to  his  quiet  remarks  with  anger,  nodding  their 
heads  in  approval. 

435 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"Act,  Yakoff!"  said  Eobiistoff  aloud.— "We  will  afl  be 
witnesses    ...    go  ahead!  " 

And  above  the  general  hurly-burly  of  voices,  Foma's  loud, 
avenging  voice  rang  out: 

"  You  have  not  constructed  life — you  have  made  a  cess- 
pool! You  have  disseminated  filth  and  stifling  exhalations 
by  your  deeds.  Have  you  any  conscience  ?  Do  you  remem- 
ber God?  A  five-kopek  piece — that  is  your  God!  But  you 
have  expelled  your  conscience  .  .  Whither  have  you  driven 
it?  You  bloodsuckers!  You  live  on  other  people^s  strength 
.  .  you  work  with  other  people's  hands!  For  all  this  you 
shall  be  made  to  pay!  .  .  .  You  shall  perish — you  shall 
ibe  called  to  account  for  all!  For  all — to  the  last  little  tear- 
idrop  .  .  .  how  much  blood  have  people  wept  because 
of  your  great  deeds?  And  hell  is  no  place  for  you,  you 
scoundrels,  according  to  your  deserts  .  .  Neither  in  fire 
nor  in  boiling  mire  shall  you  be  roasted.  You  shall  not  get 
rid  of  your  torments  for  ages  .  .  .  The  devils  will  fling 
you  into  kettles,  and  will  baste  you  there  .  .  ha,  ha,  ha! 
they  will  baste  you!  ha,  ha,  ha!  Eespected  merchants  .  . 
constructors  of  life    .    .    0  you  devils!  " 

Foma  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  holding  his  sides, 
swayed  to  and  fro  on  his  feet,  with  his  head  thrown  back. 

At  that  moment,  several  men  swiftly  exchanged  signals, 
flung  themselves  simultaneously  upon  Foma,  and  crushed 
him  down  with  their  bodies. 

"  Cau-ught!  "  ejaculated  someone,  in  a  suffocating  voice. 

"  A-ah?    So  that's  your  game?  "  shouted  Foma  hoarsely. 

For  half  a  minute  the  whole  heap  of  black  bodies  surged 
about  on  one  spot,  stamping  heavily,  and  out  of  it  proceeded 
dull  exclamations: 

"  Throw  him  down!  " 

"Hold  his  hand    .    .    .    his  hand!    A-ah!" 

436 


99 

'      •      •      • 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

"  Grab  him  by  the  beard!  " 

"  Fetch  some  napkins    ...    tie  him  with  napkins    .    .** 

"You'll  bite,  will  you?" 

^*The-ere!    What?    Aha-a! " 

"  Don't  strike!    Don't  you  dare  to  strike    .    .    .'* 

"Eeady!" 

"  That's  good! " 

"  Let's  carry  him  yonder — to  the  bulwarks 

"  Fling  him  to  the  winds    .    .    he!  he! 

They  dragged  Foma  bodily  to  the  side,  and  having  laid 
him  against  the  wall  of  the  captain's  cabin,  they  stood  away 
from  him,  adjusting  their  clothing  and  mopping  their  per- 
spiring faces.  He,  exhausted  by  the  struggle,  and  rendered 
helpless  by  the  disgrace  of  his  conquest,  lay  in  silence,  tat- 
tered, daubed  with  something,  strongly  bound,  hand  and 
foot  with  napkins  and  towels.  With  round,  blood-shot  eyes, 
he  stared  at  the  sky,  his  gaze  was  dull,  and  stupid,  as  that  of 
an  idiot,  and  his  chest  heaved  unevenly  and  with  diffi- 
culty   .    . 

Now  came  their  turn  to  jeer  at  him.  Ziiboff  began  it.  He 
stepped  up  to  him,  gave  him  a  dig  in  the  ribs  with  his  foot, 
and  in  a  sweet  voice,  he  inquired,  trembling  all  over  with 
the  delectable  joy  of  revenge: 

"What  now,  you  thunder-like  prophet,  hey?  Well,  now 
you  are  experiencing  the  sweetness  of  the  captivity  of  Baby- 
lon, he,  he,  he! " 

"  Wait,"  .  .  said  Foma,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  without  look- 
ing at  him. — "Wait  .  .  until  I  get  rested  .  .  You 
haven't  gagged  my  tongue  .  .  ."  But  as  he  said  this, 
Foma  understood  that  he  could  do  nothing,  say  nothing 
more.  And  that  not  because  they  had  bound  him,  but  some- 
thing had  burned  out  within  him,  and  it  had  grown  dark 
and  empty  in  his  soul   .    .  ' 

437 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

Ryeznikoff  approached  Ziiboff.  Then^  one  after  another, 
the  others  began  to  draw  near.  Bobroff,  Kononoff,  and 
several  other  men,  together  with  Yakoff  Mayakin  at  their 
head,  went  to  the  pilot-house,  anxiously  discussing  some- 
thing in  low  tones. 

The  steamer  was  sailing  toward  the  town  under  full 
steam.  The  bottles  on  the  table  quivered  and  rattled  with 
its  vibration,  and  this  trembling,  plaintive  sound  was  more 
clearly  audible  than  any  other  to  Foma.  A  throng  of  men 
stood  over  him,  and  said  vicious,  insulting  things  to  him. 

But  Foma  beheld  the  faces  of  these  people  as  through  a 
fog,  and  their  words  did  not  strike  home  to  his  heart.  In  it, 
from  out  of  the  depths  of  his  soul,  sprang  up  a  vast,  bitter 
feeling;  he  watched  it  grow,  and  although  he  did  not  yet 
understand  it,  he  experienced  a  melancholy,  humiliating  sen- 
sation   .    . 

"  Eeflect, — you  charlatan! — what  have  you  done  to  your- 
self? "  said  Ryeznikoff.  "  What  sort  of  life  is  now  possible  to 
you?   For  now,  not  one  of  us  will  even  want  to  spit  on  you!  " 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  " — Foma  strove  to  comprehend. 
The  merchants  stood  around  him  in  a  dense,  dark  mass    .    . 

"  Co-ome  nov, ," — said  Yashtchuroff,  "  your  busineso  is 
done  for,  Fomka    .    ." 

"  We'll  give  it  to  you,"  growled  Zuboff  softly. 

"  Unbind  me!  "  said  Foma. 

"No!  thank  you  most  sincerely!  " 

*'  Unbind  me    .    .    ." 

"  You're  all  right!  you  can  lie  as  you  are   .    .    ." 

"  Call  my  god-father    .    ." 

But  Yakoff  Tarasovitch  himself  came  up  at  that  moment. 
He  approached,  halted  over  Foma,  surveyed  his  outstretched 
figure  intently,  with  stern  eyes,  and  heaved  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Well,  Foma,"  he  began. 

438 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

"  Order  them  to  unbind  me  .  ."  entreated  Foma,  in  a 
low,  submissive  voice. 

"  Will  you  get  turbulent  again?  No,  you  may  lie  as  you 
are    .    .    /^  replied  his  god-father. 

"  I  won't  say  another  word  .  .  I  swear  by  God!  Un- 
bind me  .  .  I  am  ashamed!  For  Christ's  sake  .  .  yo~i 
see,  that  I  am  not  drunk  .  .  Well,  you  need  not  unbind 
my  hands    .    ." 

"  Do  you  swear  that  you  will  not  be  turbulent  ?  " — asked 
Mayakin. 

"  0  Lord!  I  will  not  ...  I  will  not  .  .  ."  groaned 
Foma. 

They  unbound  his  feet,  but  left  his  hands  bound.  When 
he  rose,  he  looked  at  them  all,  and  said  softly,  with  a  piteous 
smile: 

"  You  got  your  own  way    .    .    ." 

"  We  always  shall!  "  his  god-father  answered  him,  with  a 
harsh  laugh. 

Foma,  bowed  over,  with  his  hands  bound  behind  his  back, 
walked  silently  to  the  table,  without  raising  his  eyes  to  any- 
one. He  had  grown  shorter  in  stature,  and  thinner.  His 
dishevelled  hair  fell  over  his  brow  and  temples;  the  torn 
and  crumpled  bosom  of  his  shirt  projected  from  his  vest, 
and  his  collar  covered  his  teeth.  He  twisted  his  head  to 
move  the  collar  under  his  chin,  and  was  not  able  to  do  it. 
Then  the  little  gray-haired  old  man  stepped  up  to  him,  ad- 
justed what  required  putting  in  order,  glanced  into  his  eyes 
with  a  smile,  and  said: 

"  You  must  endure  it    .    .    ." 

Now,  in  the  presence  of  Mayakin,  the  men  who  had 
been  jeering  at  Foma  held  their  peace,  gazing  inquiringly 
and  with  curiosity  at  the  old  man,  and  waiting  for  him 
to  do  something.     He  was  calm,  but  his  eyes  gleamed 

439 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

in  a  manner  not  entirely  befitting  the  event, — contentedly, 
brightly    .    . 

"  Give  me  some  vodka,"  entreated  Foma,  seating  himself 
at  the  table,  and  supporting  himself  against  its  edge.  His 
bent  form  was  pitiful  and  helpless.  Those  around  him  con- 
versed in  an  undertone,  walked  with  a  certain  caution.  And 
all  stared  now  at  him,  now  at  Mayakin,  who  had  taken  a 
seat  opposite  him.  The  old  man  did  not  give  his  godson 
the  vodka  at  once.  First  he  scrutinized  him  intently,  then 
deliberately  poured  out  a  wine-glassful,  and,  at  last,  in  si- 
lence, raised  it  to  Foma's  lips.  Foma  sucked  up  the  vodka, 
and  entreated: 

"More!" 

"  That  will  do!  "  replied  Mayakin. 

And  then  ensued  a  minute  of  complete  silence  which  was 
painful  to  them  all.  They  approached  the  table  noiselessly, 
on  tiptoe,  and  as  they  drew  near,  they  stretched  out  their 
necks  in  order  to  get  a  good  look  at  Foma. 

"  Well,  Fomka,  do  you  understand  now,  what  you  have 
done?" — asked  Mayakin.  He  spoke  softly,  but  all  heard 
his  question. 

Foma  shook  his  head,  and  remained  silent. 

"  For  you  there  is  no  pardon!  "  continued  Mayakin  firmly, 
elevating  his  voice. — "  Although  we  are  all  Christians,  yet 
you  will  receive  no  forgiveness  from  us  .  .  Now  you  know 
it   ..." 

Foma  raised  his  head,  and  said  thoughtfully: 

"  I  forgot  to  speak  about  you,  papa  .  .  You  have  not 
heard  anything  from  me    .    ." 

"  There,  sir!  "  screamed  Mayakin  bitterly,  pointing  at  his 
godson. — "  you  see  ?  " 

A  dull  murmur  of  protest  made  itself  heard. 

"  Well,  it  makes  no  difference!  " — went  on  Foma,  with  a 

440 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

sigh. — "It's  all  the  same!  Nothing — no  good,  came  of 
it   .    .    ." 

And  again  he  bent  over  the  table. 

"  What  did  you  want  ?  "  asked  his  god-father,  sternly. 

"What?" — Foma  raised  his  head,  looked  at  the  mer- 
chants, and  smiled. — "  I  wanted  to    ,    .    /' 

"  Drunkard!    Worthless  scamp!  '^ 

"  I  am  not  drunk!  "  retorted  Foma  surlily. — "  I  have 
drunk  only  two  small  glasses  in  all  .  .  I  was  entirely 
sober    .    ." 

"  Consequently,''  said  Bobrojff,  "  you  were  right,  Yakoff 
Tarasovitch:  he's  out  of  his  mind    .    .    ." 

"  I?  "  exclaimed  Foma. 

But  no  one  paid  any  heed  to  him.  Eyeznikoff,  Zuboff, 
and  Bobroff  bent  over  to  Mayakin  and  began  discussing 
something  in  low  tones. 

"  Guardian  "...    Foma  caught  this  one  word. 

"  I  am  in  my  right  mind! "  he  said,  throwing  himself 
against  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  gazing  at  the  merchants 
with  troubled  eyes. — "  I  understand  what  I  wanted.  I 
wanted  to  speak  the  truth  .  .  I  wanted  to  convict 
you    .    .    ." 

Emotion  again  overpowered  him,  and  he  suddenly  jerked 
his  hands,  in  the  endeavor  to  free  them. 

"  Eh,  eh!  Wait!  "  cried  Bobroff,  seizing  him  by  the  shoul- 
der.—" Hold  on  to  him!  " 

"  Well,  hold  away! "  said  Foma,  sadly  and  bitterly. — 
"  Hold  away    .    .    But  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  me?  " 

"  Sit  still!  "  his  god-father  shouted  harshly  at  him. 

Foma  made  no  reply.  He  understood,  by  this  time,  what 
he  had  done, — that  he  had  effected  nothing,  that  his  speech 
had  not  moved  the  merchants  one  atom.  Here  they  were, 
collected  around  him  in  a  dense  throng,  and  he  could  see 

441 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

nothing  for  them.  They  were  quiet,  firm,  treated  him  like 
a  drunkard  and  a  noisy  squabbler,  and  were  plotting  some- 
thing against  him.  He  felt  himself  pitiful,  insignificant, 
crushed  by  this  mass  of  men  strong  in  spirit,  clever,  sedate 
.  .  It  seemed  to  him  that  a  lon^  time  had  elapsed  since  he 
had  vituperated  them,  he  seemed  to  himself  now  queer  and 
incapable  of  comprehending  what  he  had  done  to  these  peo- 
ple, and  why  he  had  done  it.  He  even  felt  within  him  some- 
thing offensive,  resembling  shame  at  himself  in  his  own 
sight.  He  had  a  tickling  in  his  throat  and  he  was  conscious 
of  some  foreign  element  in  his  breast — as  though  some  sort 
of  dust  or  ashes  had  been  sprinkled  over  his  heart,  and  it 
beat  heavily,  unevenly.  Wishing  to  explain  his  behavior 
to  himself,  he  said  slowly,  and  reflectively,  without  looking 
at  any  one: 
-^  I  wanted  to  speak  the  truth    .    .    Is  this  life?  " 

"  Fool!  "  said  Mayakin  contemptuously. — "  What  truth 
can  you  speak?    What  do  you  understand?  " 

"  My  heart  ached — and  I  do  understand!  What  justifica- 
tion have  you  all  in  the  sight  of  God?  Why  do  you  live? 
Yes,  I  feel    .    .    .    I  felt  the  truth!  " 

"  He's  repenting!  "  said  Ryeznikoff,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Let  him!  "  replied  BobrofE  disdainfully. 

Someone  added: 

"  And  it  is  pretty  evident,  from  his  remarks,  that  his  mind 
is  clouded    ..." 

"  It  is  not  given  to  everyone  to  speak  the  truth! — "  said 
Yako5  Tarasovitch  sternly  and  reprovingly,  as  he  raised  his 
hand  on  high.  "  Men  discern  it,  the  truth,  by  the  mind,  not 
by  the  heart  ...  do  you  understand  that?  If  you  felt 
— that  was  nonsense!  A  cow  feels,  when  her  tail  is  being 
twisted.  But  you — ^understand!  Understand  everything! 
And  understand  your  enemy  .  .  Guess  what  he  is  think- 
ing of  in  bis  sleep,  and  then  go  ahead! '' 

4Vl 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

According  to  his  wont,  Maydkin  was  on  the  point  of  being 
carried  away  by  the  exposition  of  his  practical  philosophy, 
but  reahzing  in  season  that  a  conquered  man  is  not  to  be 
taught  by  fighting,  he  stopped  short.  Foma  gazed  stupidly 
at  him,  and  swayed  his  head  in  a  strange  manner. 

"  Sheep!  "  said  Mayakin. 

"  Leave  me  alone!  "  entreated  Foma  plaintively.  "  You've 
had  your  way  completely!  Well — what  more  do  you  want? 
You  have  trampled  on  me,  you  have  defeated  me  ...  so 
you  want  me!    Who  am  I?    0  Lord!    .    .    .^' 

All  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  his  remarks,  and  this  attention 
contained  prejudice,  malice    .    . 

"  I  have  lived,'^ — said  Foma  in  a  suppressed  voice. — "  I 
have  observed  ...  I  have  thought.  My  heart  has  be- 
come ulcered  with  thinking!  And  now,  the  ulcer  has  burst 
.  .  Now  I  am  utterly  worn  out!  It  seems  as  though  all  my 
blood  had  run  out  ...  I  have  lived  to  see  this  day  .  . 
still  I  thought  that — now  I  will  speak  the  truth  .  .  Well, 
I  have  spoken  it    .    ." 

He  talked  in  a  colorless  monotone,  and  his  speech  re- 
sembled the  speech  of  delirium. 

"  I  have  spoken  it  .  .  and  all  I  have  accomplished  is 
my  own  destruction  .  .  .  nothing  more!  No  trace  of 
my  speech  remains.  Everything  is  safe!  .  .  .  But  some- 
thing flared  up  within  me  .  .  it  has  burned  out  and — 
there  is  nothing  left  .  .  .  What  have  I  to  hope  for  now  ? 
.    .    And  everything  remains  just  as  it  was  before    .    .    ." 

Yakoff  Tarasovitch  laughed  venomously. 

"  Did  you  think  you  could  lick  a  mountain  down  with 
your  tongue?  You  accumulated  malice  at  a  bed-bug,  and 
started  out  after  a  bear!  Is  that  it?  Madman!  .  .  . 
your  father  ought  to  see  you  now    .    .    .    ekh!" 

"And,  nevertheless," — said  Foma  suddenly,  in  a  loud, 

443 


Foma  Gordyeeff 

confident  voice,  and  his  eyes  flashed  once  more, — "never- 
theless— you  are  entirely  to  blame!  You  have  spoiled  life! 
You  have  kept  squeezing  and  squeezing — ^we  suffocate  be- 
cause of  you  .  .  because  of  you!  And  although  my  truth 
against  you  is  weak  .  .  nevertheless — it  is  the  truth!  You 
are — accursed!    Damn  you  all!  ^' 

He  struggled  on  his  chair,  endeavoring  to  free  his  hands, 
and  shouted,  with  eyes  which  flashed  ferociously: 

"  Unbind  my  hands!  " 

They  surrounded  him  more  closely;  the  faces  of  the  mer- 
chants grew  harsher,  and  Eyeznikoff  said  to  him  admonish- 
ingly: 

"  Don't  make  a  noise,  don't  kick  up  a  row!  We  shall  soon 
reach  the  town  .  .  Don't  disgrace  yourself  .  .  .  and 
don't  disgrace  us  .  .  Aren't  we  going  to  take  you  straight 
from  the  wharf  to  the  insane  asylum?  " 

"  Ye-es?!  "  exclaimed  Foma. — "  So  you  are  going  to  put 
me  in  the  insane  asylum?  " 

They  did  not  answer  him.  He  gazed  at  their  faces,  and 
dropped  his  head. 

"  Behave  yourself  quietly!  .  .  we'll  unbind  you!  "  said 
someone. 

"  It's  not  necessary!  "  said  Foma  in  a  low  tone  .  .  "It 
makes  no  difference  .  .  I  defy  you!  Nothing  will  hap- 
pen   .    .    ." 

And  again  his  words  assumed  the  character  of  raving    .    . 

"  I  am  ruined  .  .  I  know  that!  Only,  not  by  your 
power  .  .  but  through  my  own  weakness  .  .  .  yes! 
You,  also,  are  worms  in  the  sight  of  God  .  .  And — wait! 
You  shall  choke  .  .  I  am  ruined — through  blindness  .  .  . 
I  have  seen  much,  and  become  blind  .  .  .  Like  an  owl 
.  .  I  remember — when  I  was  a  little  boy,  I  chased  an  owl 
in  a  ravine    .    .    it  tried  to  fly,  and  crashed  into  something 

444 


Fom&  Gordy^efif 

.  .  The  sun  dazzled  it  .  .  It  was  all  bruised — and  it 
perished  .  .  .  And  my  father  said  to  me  at  the  time: 
*  that's  the  way  with  man :  one  man  dashes  about,  dashes 
about,  bruises  himself,  wears  himself  out,  and  flings  himself 
into  any  place  he  can  find  .  .  just  for  the  sake  of  rest- 
ing'   .  .    Ei!    Untie  my  hands!  " 

His  face  turned  pale,  his  eyes  closed,  his  shoulders  quiv- 
ered. Tattered  and  dishevelled,  he  swayed  to  and  fro  in  his 
chair,  striking  his  breast  against  the  edge  of  the  table,  and 
began  to  mutter. 

The  merchants  exchanged  glances  of  profound  signifi- 
cance. Some,  nudging  one  another  in  the  ribs,  nodded  their 
heads  in  silence  at  Foma.  Yakoff  Mayakin's  countenance 
was  immovable  and  dark,  as  though  hewn  out  of  stone. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  untie  him?  "  whispered  Bobroff. 

"  Let's  go  a  little  closer    .    ." 

"  No,  don't  .  .  .  said  Mayakin  in  a  low  tone. — '^  Let's 
leave  him  here,  and  let's  send  someone  for  a  carriage  .  . 
We'll  take  him  straight  to  the  asylum    .    .    ." 

"  But  where  am  I  to  find  rest  ?  "  Foma  began  again  to 
mutter. — "Whither  shall  I  flee?" — And  he  sank  down  in 
a  broken,  uncomfortable  attitude,  all  bent  together,  and  with 
an  expression  of  pain  on  his  face. 

Mayakin  rose  from  his  seat,  and  went  to  the  pilot-house, 
after  saying  quietly: 

"  Keep  watch  of  him  .  .  lest  he  should  fling  himself 
into  the  water    .    ." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  the  young  fellov  .  /'  said  Bobroff,  as 
he  gazed  after  Yakoff  Tarasovitch. 

"  Nobody  is  to  blame  for  his  folly,"  replied  Eyeznikoff 
grimly. 

"  Yakoff  is  .  .  ."  said  Ziiboff  in  a  whisper,  jerking  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  Mayakin. 

445 


Fom^  Gordyeeff 


"  What  has  Yakoff  to  do  with  it  ?  He  lost  nothing  through 
him    .    .    ,'' 

"We-ell,  ye-e-es!    .    .    now  he    .    .    .    he-he!" 

"  Will  be  appointed  guardian    .    .    .    he-he-he!  " 

Their  quiet  laughter  and  whispers  mingled  with  the  pant- 
ing of  the  engine,  and  could  not  have  reached  Foma's  ear. 
He  stared  straight  in  front  of  him,  with  lack-lustre  eyes, 
and  only  his  lips  trembled  almost  imperceptibly. 

"  His  son  has  made  his  appearance  .  ."  whispered  Bob- 
roff. 

"I  know  him,  that  son," — said  Yashichuroff. — "I  met 
him  in  Perm." 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he?  " 

"  A  business-like    .    .    clever  fellow    .    ." 

"Well?" 

"  He  manages  a  big  business  in  Usolye." 

"  Consequently  .  .  Yakoff  doesn't  need  this  one  .  . 
Ye-es    .    .    so  that's  it!" 

"  Look — he's  weeping!  " 

"Is  he?" 

Foma  was  sitting,  leaning  against  the  back  of  the  chair, 
and  with  his  head  hanging  on  his  breast.  His  eyes  were 
closed,  and  from  beneath  his  eyelashes  the  tears  were  trick- 
ling down,  one  b;;  one.  They  ran  down  his  cheeks  upon 
his  mustache  .  .  .  Foma's  lips  quivered  convulsively,  and 
the  tears  fell  from  his  mustache  upon  his  breast.  He  re- 
mained silent  and  motionless,  only  his  breast  heaved  heavily 
and  unevenly.  The  merchants  looked  at  his  pale  face, 
sunken  with  suffering,  wet  with  tears,  with  the  corners  of 
his  lips  drooping  downward — and  began  silently  to  move 
away  from  him. 

And  so  Foma  was  left  alone,  with  his  hands  bound  behind 
his  back,  sitting  in  front  of  the  table  which  was  covered 

446 


I  Foma  Gordyeeff 

with  dirty  dishes,  and  various  remnants  of  the  feast.  At 
times,  he  slowly  opened  his  heavy,  swollen  lids,  and  his  eyes, 
through  tears,  gazed  dully  and  mournfully  at  the  table  where 
everything  was  dirty,  upset,  ruined    .    . 


Three  years  have  elapsed. 

A  year  ago,  Yakoff  Tardsovitch  Mayakin  died.  Dying  in 
full  consciousness,  he  remained  true  to  himself,  and  a  few 
hours  before  his  death,  he  said  to  his  son,  daughter  and 
son-in-law: 

"  Well,  children, — live  richly!  Yakoff  has  devoured  all 
sorts  of  grass,  so  it's  time  for  Yakoff  to  quit  the  yard  .  . 
You  see — I  am  dying,  but  I  am  not  low-spirited  .  .  And 
the  Lord  will  set  that  down  in  my  favor.  I  have  bothered 
Him,  the  All- Gracious  One,  with  jests  only,  but  never  with 
groans  and  complaints!  Okh!  .  .  0  Lord!  I  am  glad, 
that  I  have  understood  how  to  live — according  to  Thy  mercy! 
Good-bye,  my  dear  children  .  .  .  Live  in  harmony  .  .  . 
and  don't  philosophize  much  .  .  You  must  know — that 
not  he  is  holy  who  hides  himself  from  sin,  and  lies  very 
quiet  .  .  You  can't  defend  yourself  against  sin  by 
cowardice  .  .  the  parable  of  the  talents  speaks  of  that 
.  .  .  But  he  who  wants  to  get  the  good  of  life  is  noti 
afraid  of  sin  .  .  .  The  Lord  will  pardon  him  his  error 
.  .  The  Lord  has  appointed  man  to  organize  life  .  .  . 
but  He  has  not  given  him  so  very  much  brains  .  .  .  which 
signifies,  that  He  will  not  hold  a  man  severely  to  account  for 
his  arrears  of  dues  .  .  .  For  He  is  holy  and  full  of 
mercy    .    .    ." 

He  died  after  a  brief,  but  painful  agony. 

Ezhoff  was  exiled  from  the  town,  for  something  or  other, 
shortly  after  the  affair  on  board  the  steamer. 

447 


Foma  Gordy^eff 

A  large,  new  commercial  firm  sprang  up  in  the  town,  nndtr 
the  firm-name  of  "  Taras  Mayakin  and  Afrikan  Smolin." 

During  all  these  three  years,  nothing  had  been  heard  aboii 
Foma.  It  was  said,  that  after  his  discharge  from  the  hos 
pital,  Mayakin  had  sent  him  off  to  some  place  in  the  Ural,  t- 
his  mother's  relatives. 

Not  long  ago,  Foma  made  his  appearance  in  the  streets 
of  the  town.  He  was  shabby,  dishevelled,  and  half-witted. 
Almost  constantly  intoxicated,  he  appears — now  gloomy, 
with  frowning  brows,  and  head  drooping  on  his  breast,  again 
smiling  with  the  j  iteous,  mournful  smile  of  an  eccentric  re- 
ligious fanatic.  He  is  sometimes  obstreperous,  but  this  rarely 
happens.  He  lives  in  a  little  wing  in  his  foster-sister's  court- 
yard. 

The  merchants  and  citizens  who  know  him  often  jeer  at 
him.  As  Foma  is  walking  along  the  street,  someone  will 
suddenly  shout  at  him: 

"  Hey,  you, — prophet!    Come  hither!  " 

Foma  very  rarely  goes  to  the  person  who  calls  him, — he 
avoids  people,  and  does  not  like  to  talk  with  them.  But  if 
he  does  go  to  them,  they  say  to  him: 

"  Come,  now,  say  a  few  words  to  us  about  doomsday,  won't 
you?!    He-he-he!    Pro-phet! " 


448  ^ 

S4 


'■*,.■■■.*■ 


14  DAY  USE 

^TURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORKOWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

,   .    J      ^c,  rhP  last  date  stamped  below,  or 


eendo'fFALlQLforfer, 


a 


i\  §    -  *  •••♦ 


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